Belgium to the Fifth Power

This was my fifth time visiting Belgium. Here's a compendium:


Visit 1 (2001): We were engaged and I hadn't yet met anyone in RaggedyDad's family but his mother.

Complicating factor: Being not-yet-married, we were staying in different places. Cell phones were not as ubiquitous as they are now, so we spent a lot of time looking for each other at corners and checking our watches.

Nice factor: RaggedyDad's family drove us around to see some very interesting, off-the-beaten-path parts of the country. It was very fascinating and very new.


Visit 2(2002): We were married for a little under a year.

Complicating factor: None!

Nice factor: No kids yet meant lots of freedom and very little luggage. We took a side-trip to Paris for a day.



Visit 3(2004): We went with Ann when she was a year old.

Complicating factor: Longish flight with a baby; more luggage than we were used to; baby Ann nearly fed ham-and-cheese baby food by well-meaning relatives

Nice factor: Ann and her cousin, five months older than she is, getting to know each other


Visit 4(2006): Ann was 3, Andy was nearly 1.

Complicating factor: Hottest weather in Belgium in all the times I've been there. Nobody has air conditioning. Nobody has screens on their windows. Mosquito bites galore. In the news, Bush has just refused to sign Kyoto accord, so everyone seems to be blaming me for the heat!

Nice factor: RaggedyDad's sister moved into a house between this visit and the previous one, and her yard is enormous by our standards. Kids have a blast outdoors on grass, play equipment, and in kiddie pool.


Visit 5 (2008) Ann is 5, Andy is nearly 3, Little Rag is 1

Complicating factor: Ann is 5, Andy is nearly 3, Little Rag is 1. Complicated enough, no? The five of us share a bedroom for 2 weeks. The airports we are traveling to and from are kind of far.

Nice factor: The look on RaggedyDad's grandparents' faces as they saw the three kids, especially the baby, who looks just like RaggedyDad. Having a car for the first time while there gave us a much greater degree of freedom (as much as we can really achieve) and a sense of family exclusivity.



Next up . . . Tour the caves of Han-sur-Lesse with the Raggedies and a contingent of surprise guests!

Raggedies Abroad!

Groetjes van Belgie!!

Since Sunday, we've been overseas visiting RaggedyDad's family.

Here are some early highlights:

Pre-Shabbos, as a means to be social, and also, conveniently avoid cooking and leftovers prior to our trip, we had a great time at the BeyondBT Shabbaton. All of the organizers were so gracious!

Poor RaggedyDad thought I was serious when he asked me what I'd be speaking about, and I said I'd just retell my husband's "story" as a ba'al teshuva. He looked like he was about to faint. Thankfully, I did have other things to talk about. His story is one of the best I've heard though. Maybe he'll tell you some day.

Meeting a bunch of bloggers and various others turned out to be a lot of fun, even for the Mister. Special thanks go to Princess D'Tiara for staying with us, attempting to help me stay sane pre-trip, and coming along for the ride to the airport with us so she could take our van home and do who-knows-what with it!

The flight was long, made all the longer by the inevitable delays in getting the plane off the ground (close to 2 hours). I do hate flying. But we had individual TVs that each had their own on-demand choices of music, movies, television shows, games, etc. Pretty fancy stuff. I assure you, this was economy class.

Being the conscientious daughter-in-law that I am, I used my time wisely to try to learn some more Russian via the Berlitz game they had. I can now order a cab, ask if a store takes credit cards, and name some of the days of the week. Of course, being that we're not in a Russian-speaking country right now, the usefulness of this is rather limited.

Our plane (a 757) had two rows of 3 seats each. Somehow, for the bulk of the flight, I wound up in the middle of a row with Andy to my right, Ann to my left, and Little Rag on my lap. Where was RaggedyDad, you ask? Across the aisle! Alone! With an empty seat next to him!!!! I'm still not sure how that happened, and it is totally not representative of his usual helpfulness level. A momentary lapse of reason.

When the food came, it was super hot, and seemed to be not simply double-wrapped, but wrapped in a dozen or more layers of shrink-wrap, foil, various sticky tape sections, and more plastic wrap. The food was decent, but the amount of garbage outnumbered the actual edible parts about 50:1.

After deliberating, we booked a flight that landed in Germany, for various logistic and economic reasons. I grossly underestimated just how much I would, for lack of a better term, FREAK OUT about being in Germany. I know that people have very mixed opinions about this, and some other members of my family have already been through Germany for work or stopovers, or what have you. In the time it took to go through passport control, luggage pickup, renting the car, and driving out of the country, my kids saw me in way too many emotional-breakdown-type moments.

We barely fit into the car, and I mean barely. If we're back here again, we do have to both learn to drive a stick shift, because it will allow us to rent something bigger and not pay as much of a fortune. Since we had to go automatic and didn't want to break the bank, we had to go with a smaller car. But it is a relief not to have to shlep all of us and our stuff on buses and trains. I've been there, and it ain't pretty.

This is getting long, and it's time for me to go get supper ready, so I'm off and will continue later.

No Complaints

There is nothing like a routine visit to the children's hospital with one of your kids for a totally no-big-deal, planned follow-up, to bring up feelings of gratitude and a little philosophizing. A visit where thankfully, what you'd been following is fine, and resolved, and all you take home is your child and some films. Baruch ata Hashem elokeinu melech haolam, hatov vehameitiv!

I had a discussion with a friend the other day about the idea that we shouldn't try to minimize the challenges of another person. We do this a lot as moms, sometimes without even realizing it.

My kids are nearly 5, nearly 3, and nearly 1. We're firmly in diaper-tantrum-toileting-sleepless-crumbs-holdme-helpme territory and will probably be there for a while. I know what my challenges are, but I also (hopefully) am able to keep the complaints to a minimum and sense the immense blessings of this stage. Talking to a relative or friend with school-aged kids or teens or kids of an age range that runs the gamut, can sometimes lead to a laundry list of "just-you-waits" and "so-glad-that's-overs".

What does it mean when we compare challenges? When we're vying for the title of Biggest Sufferer? I read recently that the allure of complaining is that if we demonstrate just how difficult our life's challenges are, we come across as all that much more heroic for overcoming them.

I think that there's a great deal of truth to this explanation. Kvetching to one another is not sinful, but there's a hidden motive that can lurk: If I've just described the myriad of difficult scenarios I face, the mere fact that I'm standing upright in front of you makes me some kind of Superwoman, right?

Well, momentarily, maybe. But in the long run, I think that we're drawn to those with buoyant spirits and with a grateful perspective on life. Those who are cheerful and insist not that "it was nothing" but that they were happy to do it.

The gist of it for me (and this is a major work in progress) is to minimize my own complaints while at the same time, hearing and being empathetic towards the complaints of others, without minimizing or judging. It's a tall order. It's our life's work.

What do you think?

No Right to Complain

Making Pesach is difficult. I know this, yet I do not speak from experience. You see, RaggedyDad and I are lucky enough to spend Pesach with my parents, and we simply close up our chametz-sold apartment for the week. They live about a ten-minute car ride from here, so it doesn't get much more convenient.

This will be our seventh Pesach since we're married, and it will be the seventh time that we've packed up and moved in with my folks. That's right, I have 3 kids, and I have yet to make Pesach. I'm ready for the jeers, the stones you want to throw at me, and the nasty looks. I know, I know, I'm a big baby and a spoiled brat for getting off so easy.

Around this time of year, I feel like I just want to hide for the few weeks before Pesach as other friends and family members kick it into high gear with their cleaning and Pesach preparations. During Pesach itself, we aren't around, and then there's a week or so after we return and everyone's getting their lives and homes back to normal.

Some of the remarks I hear are stated bluntly, and some are more veiled. But the subtext is clear, and it is a tense time for me and relationships with people whose resentment is palpable. "I'M SORRY!" I almost want to shout. I really am. I wish I could just make the work disappear, and give everyone the chance to focus on Simchat Yom Tov and not just on the labor-intensive, nitty gritty of Pesach preparation.

Granted, the things I will be dealing with greatly pale by comparison. Among them, packing up the five of us for the week, cramming us and our stuff into the 1 1/2 rooms we'll be alotted in a totally un-child-proof environment, wanting to help but being incessantly in the way, keeping everyone quiet and well-behaved in a home that's not ours, the stairs that I am unaccustomed to at this point, repacking, the laundry-thon at home, disrupted daily schedules that may or may not ever get back to normal, and of course, everyone, um, hating me.

I know that those things are really minor in comparison, and believe me, I do not complain to the Pesach-makers. I don't dare. There's not much to talk about during these couple of weeks, when we ask each other what's doing, and the discrepancies between what we're each busy with are so pronounced. I tend to sort of avoid people because I can hear their internal dialogue regarding my combination of luck and chutzpah, and I'm sure of it because of the occasional comments that slip out, intentional or not.

While I haven't yet paid my Pesach dues, my husband certainly has. His family lives overseas and is totally assimilated, so obviously, Yom Tov with the in-laws is not a consideration, nor is having their help in any way at other times, but right now, understandably, what everyone's thinking of is Pesach. Before we were married, he spent several years working hard at Pesach hotels for the week of Yom Tov. He doesn't quite understand the social tension this time of year. But I assure him that it is a real issue, and one that only gets more pronounced as we find ourselves outgrowing the newly-married-young-couple category. Most of our friends have made at least some portion of Pesach themselves.

I did suggest to my mom that we come back to our own apartment after the sedarim this year while I went over the list of what my mother would like me to buy for Yom Tov in my neighborhood where some stores carry certain items at better prices. At this point, Sukkos and Pesach are just about the only times we go to them.

Us never having made Pesach, and not having a Sukkah (or a place to construct one) also precludes my brother and sister-in-law from inviting my parents to their house for these two holidays, and believe me, I hear about it on that end too. We cause trouble in lots of ways. "But where would the Raggedys be for Yom Tov?" More guilt. More cringing. More shame. For this Pesach, my mother assured me that they do really want us to come, so I'm trying to shirk off the extreme discomfort I feel.

I think that it comes down to this. Everyone has their challenges, and their breaks in life. Some people really do seem to have it harder due to different circumstances. The various arenas - physical, emotional, financial, and in terms of the different kinds help people do or don't get from their spouses/parents/in-laws/children, etc. differ for us all in terms of what we have to deal with or where we 'get off easy'. It is impossible to know what another person's "pekaleh" really consists of, because even if you truly knew, you wouldn't know it from their perspective. Making Pesach is one of those challenges that is more public and more obvious. Which is why, since I'm not doing it, I'll be keeping a low profile between now and May.

Babula's Russian Borscht (Meatless Version)

Ingredients:

1 small cabbage
2 medium-sized beets
3 carrots
1 can white beans
1 can tomato paste (small cans)
1 onion, diced
1 potato, peeled and diced
2 beef flavor soup cubes
salt
pepper
paprika
water
oil
Sour cream if desired


Directions:

Well in advance, and wearing clothes you hate, scrub and boil beets (skin on) until soft, approx 2-3 hours (!). Peel and shred beets, shred carrots, and shred cabbage (use a food processor if you have one for all of this shredding)

Heat a small amount of oil in a heavy soup pot. Sautee together the carrots, diced onion, and diced potato, until soft.

Add approximately 3 liters of water, bring to a boil. Add soup cubes and can of beans, allow to boil again.

Add 1/2 can of tomato paste, mix well, bring back to a boil

Add cabbage, boil until cabbage feels soft

Add paprika, black pepper, and salt to taste.

Add beets, allow to boil about 5 more minutes.

Taste borscht and adjust seasonings as desired.

Serve hot, top with sour cream.

Tastes even better after a couple of days.

Zen and the Art of Mother-in-Law Maintenance

I've been away for a while. And by away, I don't mean on a sunny island. I mean away in the recesses of my mind, and in the depths of my apartment. I'm briefly coming up for air, but it may be some time before I'm around again on a regular basis.

RaggedyDad's mother is staying with us. For three weeks. She hasn't seen me or the kids in a year and a half. Last summer, I wasn't able to travel, so RaggedyDad went to visit his family alone for a week. She hadn't met baby Little Rag yet, and remembered big buster Andy as not much older than Little Rag is now.

What's been interesting is that people's reaction when I tell them about this visit are very much colored by where they are coming from. It ranges from "I can't believe that you are dealing with that!" to "Of course, where else would she stay? That's what families do."

I sense that my parents, in their own way, feel sorry for what they perceive as a significant imposition on us. While not tycoons themselves, they have the means not to have to stay in my brother's apartment in Jerusalem when visiting him, his wife, and their now 6 kids under 8 years old (Mazel tov!)

But all families differ. In MIL's case, we are the ones who undertake a great deal of help, though it doesn't really come easy to us. Admittedly, it was a bit of an adjustment for me, as I'm not accustomed this approach from growing up, and had the fortune of having parents who, if needed, could help their children. But I'd have been a fool to have let modest means stand in the way of marrying RaggedyDad.

The language and culture barrier are an issue with MIL, and without them, we'd likely get along even better than we already do. She's an intelligent, fun-loving, adventurous person. And helpful, and nice, and well-intentioned.

In that typical European way, though, she tends to be very direct and straightforward about a lot of things. Like asking me how many children I plan to have, and when exactly I plan on having the next one. Or letting me know that the sweater I'm wearing looks very nice, but would cease to, if I were to gain any weight. Or stating that people in the town where she lives are very adamant about order and cleanliness, and if they saw our place, it would not fit their standards.

Whew, I'm realizing that venting is GOOD!

The odd part is, those above statements sound a lot worse than they are intended. They are liberally sprinkled with self-deprecation and, though it doesn't always take the sting out, stated utterly non-judgmentally, but merely as facts. If you know any Europeans, that's just how they are. (Israelis do this too, though in somewhat of a different manner). They'll tell you that one of your kids is not as cute another one. They'll tell you that they don't care for the coffee you just served them. They tell it like it is, and then come back and say that we Americans are not known for our manners!

I'm coming to some understandings in the midst of all of this. No, this is not my favorite time, but it is very infrequent. Yes, sharing one small bathroom is a challenge, and someone will always be in it. Yes, I'm buying enough bread to feed the Russian army and then finding that amazingly, it is all gone 3 days later. I am talking loaves and loaves here. And meat. And cheese. And herring, which the kids have now learned to like to eat at breakfast time, but there are worse things.

Okay, venting is REALLY good.

The truth is that I have a whole lot to be extremely grateful to MIL for. Because not only did she raise the most kind, unassuming, helpful, and friendly husband I could have hoped for, she also made tremendous sacrifices for him and his sister.

She left the Soviet Union as a widow with two children under dangerous circumstances, and thereby left behind her extended family/entire support system, relative financial security, and the hopes of ever feeling comfortable anywhere else to a native-like degree. She endured tremendous hardship that could fill a book, and took it very much in stride. Although far-removed from religion, she was supportive and encouraging when my husband became interested in exploring his faith at age 15, and eventually moved to America, only to meet . . . me.

I'm taking things one day at a time, and having a few deep-breath moments. And all in all, I'm trying to see things from a perspective of appreciation, and inject a little bit of . . zen.

Inside Out

Over the past week and a half, although it's been a bustling time with holidays, cooking, and a preschooler on "vacation" from school, it's also been a time of personal reflection for me.

I once read about something called Impostor Syndrome in which people feel as though the world views them one way, while in truth, they are somebody quite different (and usually worse). While this is a real psychological disorder, I think that on a lesser scale, some of us really do put on minor guises that can be deceptive.

One of our Yom Tov guests remarked that I'm very calm with my kids, and it got me thinking that I know that that's not the case, but that it may seem to be so, to others, some of the time.

Being a calm, upbeat person is not my nature. In fact, the expected redheaded temperament is much more like it. Plus, worry is my middle name. In short, the way I see it, I'm a crabby, easy-to-anger, anxious person, even as I realize that people would be surprised to learn that.

It's an ongoing effort to be more of the person I want to be, and to be "on" for my kids in the way that I know I need to be. It's also a struggle to retain the genuine side of myself that I see as more interesting because it's a little more biting and edgy, Being better can sometimes get confused with being sweet and bland, like a stale, cheerful cookie. The trick is to still be me, but a version of myself that doesn't make me feel guilty and uncomfortable in retrospect.

We were lucky to be able to share a meal over Rosh Hashana with a family that I consider positive and inspiring, though not in a saccharine way. In some neutral context, the wife mentioned that she'd recently seen a refrigerator magnet at someone's house that said "The very thing you're complaining about is what someone else is praying for right now." (That's paraphrased.)

It took me some time to really try to internalize how true this is for me. Whatever irks me - a mess in my house, RaggedyDad not helping "the right way," a child showing chutzpah - while irritating, I'm lucky to have each and every one. And even though I'm human and I can complain, I'd be crazy to only complain, and not quietly (humbly) realize the truth of that saying on the magnet.

That thought, and the fact that these years are forming the basis of my children's experiences and memories, is what hopefully propels me when I'm feeling like being more of who I want to be, and trying to cut down on the hatefulness, negativity, and resentment. And to be able to mentally agree when someone compliments the real me.

Crumb Coat

Later today we're having a small family barbeque in my parents' backyard for Ann's birthday. I'm glad that despite having attended a few more party-ish parties, this is what Ann has been most excited about related to her birthday every year. I do realize that as she grows up, she may change her mind . . .

With a 50% chance of scattered thunderstorms for this afternoon, we may have to bring everything indoors in a hurry at some point. I hear some thunder rolling, so chances are, we'll be indoors! We've got the paper goods, we've got the meat, and I even had a few of those infamous party favors left over from Ann's camp party (how many parties are we having here?!) to give out to the cousins who'll be there.

The only thing left to do is to finish decorating Ann's cake. For now, I put on the crumb coat, which is a thin layer of frosting that apparently should help the chocolate cake crumbs not show through as much in the final layer. I'm not a cake professional by any stretch of the imagination, but I think we'll wind up putting together something cute. I got the idea for a CandyLand-board type cake from a parenting magazine, and decided to try and adapt it for this party.

Although there'll be an excessive amount of sugary, nauseating candy (on top of a frosted cake!), I don't imagine too much of the candy will actually be eaten. Ann tends to lick a couple of pieces and then sort of hide them in a napkin. On the other hand, Andy may just have a field day with this cake! I'd better tell my brother and sister-in-law to bring along some toothbrushes for their kids!



The semi-finished product (minus the writing in the top-left corner and some lollipops in the middle of the left edge that will make it too tall to transport):

Life, Catalogued

If you're like me, you feel an occasional niggling guilt over not having your family photographs arranged in a way that allows you to enjoy them most.

We got a digital camera in July of 2003, when Ann was born, and since then, have printed very few pictures. We used to upload them to photo printing websites, get the prints by mail, and give them out to family. Since RaggedyDad's family lives overseas, it's often more practical for them to view the pictures in emails and let us know if there are any (very occasional) shots they want to have in physical form.

My parents, on the other hand, are able to see the pictures via email (and I'm so proud of them for figuring that out!) but really want a few real photos for frames, albums, etc. Now and then I hear, "I don't think I have one picture of Andy!" and he's nearly 20 months old. Guilt!

Tonight I've been organizing the pictures on the computer by month and year, since they're automatically stored by date. But this is just a tiny drop in the bucket of what I ultimately would like to do:

1. Upload photos to some kind of sharing site (I'm open to suggestions) that my parents can use to order prints. Some of them even allow users in different countries to order prints locally, which would be ideal for RaggedyDad's mom in Belgium, and grandparents in Israel (who don't use email but have a neighbor who'll help them order shots).

2. Print some of our nicer shots over the past couple of years and get some nice albums going on. Or at least photo boxes. It's hard to share photos with Shabbos guests when they're all on the computer! This also connects with the guilt about not doing anything nice/memorable with some of our vacation memorabilia, other than stashing it in a Ziploc bag for that trip.

3. Backing up the photos onto RaggedyDad's external hard drive and/or a CD. Actually, since I don't really know what this entails, I'll leave this to him.

4. Scanning old photos. RaggedyDad's sister did this with their old family photos dating back to the 1920's (!) and did a very nice, organized job. Complete with backup CDs in different locations. For those of us who have those occasional fire nightmares, I think this would help me sleep that much better at night. Not to mention how nice it is for us all to have copies of those photos.

5. Understanding how to lift movie clips and create real, normal home movies (DVDs nowadays I guess) from those funny little cassettes that our video camera uses. I'd really like to have some movies that make sense and that we can watch properly.

So there you have it. My guilt list regarding family photos and movies. I don't think anything on this list is all that complicated, though I have to learn it, and it is time-consuming. If a little bit gets done after hours on a regular basis, though, it's feasible.

For now, my task focus is finishing up the sewing of name tags on Ann's camp clothing. But I'll bet I'm not the only one feeling photo guilt!

Naming Pressures

It's a busy week for extended family simchas.

Tonight, my cousin is making a modest bar mitzvah party for her son, the oldest of 8. This is the first great-grandchild's bar mitzvah for my grandmother, and it comes just after the first yahrtzeit for my grandfather, ob"m. I won't be there, but RaggedyDad is on his way to the party now. I know it will be pretty moving and emotional for my grandmother.

On Shabbos, the bar mitzvah boy will read from the Torah in his community. However, my grandmother will be in another neighborhood, at the bris of the first baby boy born since my grandfather's passing. The baby was born to another cousin (different family) and his wife, the newest member to join the family. I hope the new mother realizes what's riding on this bris!

The level of emotionality surrounding the reaction to the illness and subsequent loss of my grandfather is hard to describe. To say that it has been a genuine heartbreak for every single member of this large extended family is an understatement.

It is a very strong assumption on the part of some of the elder family members that the name given will be my grandfather's. And I would say that there's a good 98% chance that that'll be the case. But when I talk to my grandmother and it's clear that this is a done deal in her mind, inwardly I cringe at the thought of the very remote possibility that another name will be given. Stranger things have happened.

It's rough sometimes, as young parents, feeling that very intense implicit (or explicit sometimes!) pressure to give a particular name. Or to choose between names that both sides feel ought to be given. Or to find that you just don't like the name you feel like you're "supposed" to give.

I can be objective and say that although I hope to have the merit to use it for one of my own kids someday, my grandfather's name is not on any top 10 or maybe even top 50 list of popular Jewish baby names. And the nickname options it provides are extremely limited. With our kids, we were fortunate to be able to go our own route in combining naming for people and ensuring that we actually liked and wanted to use those names / combinations of names. There was also not the same degree of emotional pressure at the times when our kids were born.

Sigh. I really do wish the new parents nachas from the newborn and the confidence and intuition to make the best of this first of many of their own parental choices.