When it comes to sick days for the kids, I tend to err on the side of compassion. My mother was much the same way. If we weren't really all that sick, but she could see that we just needed the day, and it wasn't abused more than a small handful of times over the year, she was fine about us kids staying home from school. My father's policy was more along the lines of, 'If you have no fever, you're going to school.' High school was tough enough that even if I was sick enough to stay home, I often tried to insist that I be allowed to go anyway, lest I miss something important.
RaggedyDad actually (successfully!) performed the thermometer-to-the-lightbulb trick as a kid to get out of going to school in Russia (Soviet schools? Who wouldn't?!), and certainly at this age, Ann and Andy are not missing much if they stay home from nursery and Pre-1A (Kindergarten to the uninitiated. More on these silly grade-level name differences another time).
So yesterday, when we discovered that Ann and Andy have ear infections, Andy also has strep, and everyone's got a cold, it became clear that we were going to get another Sunday on Monday. As in, another day to be home. This comes closely on the tails of Little Rag being deemed a possible 'strep carrier'.
[Pediatrician: He's got strep for the third time in a row.
RaggedyMom: What? Why? What does this mean?
P: Well, I'd venture to guess that he never actually had strep to begin with.
RM: Doctor, is this some kind of phantom-strep conspiracy-theory? Have you and I been watching the same prime time tv shows?
P: Here's the number of a good ENT I know.
RM: And you may ask yourself, "How did I get here?"]
Aside from the whole kvetchy-sick part, it is rather nice to be together.
Here's a roster of some of our sick day events:
*"Lunch for breakfast" - macaroni and cheese at 8:30 a.m.? Sure, kids!
*"Wine and cheese tasting" - er, choices of pomegranate juice or Kedem grape juice in 'fancy' plastic shot glass cups, American and 'Gorilla Cheese' (Andy's pronunciation of mozzarella) on party toothpicks
*Camping with blankets - because that is a given on at-home days
* Freestyle project-athon - Cutting up old magazie collages, pom-pom gluing, sticker applying, googly eyes, early-birthday-card-for-RaggedyDad production, etcetera
* 'Helping' Mommy to refold clothes in drawers and resort toys in bins, or ensuring that Mommy will have to do this job all over again
* Play-Doh or fingerpainting, depending on how much of a glutton for punishment I feel like being.
*Sick day cuddles
*PBS hour . . . or two.
*"Breakfast for dinner" - Pancakes, anyone? Yes, The Apple, I know we just had them yesterday -- but we're siiiiiiick . . .
We won't be doing laundry, as our machine is having "issues" and Our Man of Maytag, Jerry (referred to by Andy simply as "Jelly") is not available until tomorrow afternoon. Luckily, we were all caught up before it stopped working.
We also don't need to devote any time to paper decluttering, as I mostly did all that yesterday, nor will we be evaluating and saying goodbye to old school and camp projects, because we successfully purged all but the most special last week.
Whew! The only caveat to today is not making sick days so much fun that they never want to go back to school. Ah, well. They're only this little once. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to go find the mini-marshmallows for some hot chocolate.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Math
The number of people you run into on Main Street is directly proportional to how bad you look on any given day.
Bonus points if you did not manage to match your clothes, or if you happen to see friends of your parents or an old high school teacher. Super bonus points if you see an administrator at your kids' current schools, or if the baby is wearing only one sock and has a crusty nose.
Bonus points if you did not manage to match your clothes, or if you happen to see friends of your parents or an old high school teacher. Super bonus points if you see an administrator at your kids' current schools, or if the baby is wearing only one sock and has a crusty nose.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Produce Shopping
Although my food's probably still too salty, one thing I have tried to do over the years is to make as much food as possible from basic ingredients. What this means is, in practical terms, is frequent trips to the fruit and vegetable store. I usually do a large-ish produce shop once a week. Sometimes I have to fill in later that week, and sometimes I can even skip a week if things aren't busy around here.
In our neighborhood, there are a few independent fruit stores, as well as kosher supermarkets and chain supermarkets that carry produce. In general, I try to shop for produce in the independents, because I like the prices and freshness there, and I do sort of like that 'earthy' fruit store feel. That earthiness is precisely the reason that some people choose not to shop in these places. To me, it's not grungy as much as it's close to the source of where all of these things actually grow.
There's one giant fruit superstore a few minutes away. People generally find it disgusting. I don't mind it much, and used to shop there from time to time. The kids like the lobster tank, and the prices and variety there are very good. They carry more interesting, ethnically-diverse produce than anyone in town. The sanitary level does leave a good deal to be desired. I once found a clementine crate full of kittens in the first shopping cart I wheeled out. Yikes. Also, the grocery prices there are not very good, so it definitely necessitates a trip to another store.
The chain supermarkets display clean, shiny produce, but the prices are high, and it doesn't seem like the turnover rate is all that good. The apples look so waxy-perfect - to me, that's not what I expect from fruit and veg.
The kosher supermarkets are also good for veg and fruit in a pinch, like when you're shopping for Shabbos, and only need a couple of produce items. In general, the prices (aside from occasional hit-or-miss store specials) are rather high there, too.
One of the independent stores carries very nice produce. A bonus is that it's one of the many stores on Main Street where I get to practice my Hebrew (and invariably get asked by someone if I'm French). Another bonus is nostalgia - it's named after a town that neighbors the town where I was born. This store is very popular in the neighborhood - I know quite a few people who "only go there." It is on the small side, and I'd say that it's one of those places where people seem to hate me for having a stroller.
Never one to conform, I've lately been loving a Bukharian-owned fruit store a few blocks further south. It gives me a chance to practice my other erstwhile language - Russian (just kidding - I totally don't have the nerve to speak Russian in public yet!)
It seems like their prices are the best around, and groceries there are a decent buy. I'm talking about a bunch of asparagus for 99 cents - where I see the same quantity in other places for 2.99/lb or more! (Although it's not always available) I used to buy the giant 10 lb. bag of onions for 2.99, but I find that there are always a few in there that aren't going to hold on for more than a couple of days. When I know there's a Yom Tov coming up, or that I'm making onion soup, I'll still buy the big onion bag, and sort it out right away.
The staples are always around, and for the rest, I try to go in there with the attitude that I'll see what looks good, and devise the veg portion of my menu around it. Beets and cabbage? Okay, we'll have borscht. Butternut squash looks nice and is 59 cents a pound? Sounds like a good side dish or soup.
Do you prioritize prices or a more pleasant shopping experience in your produce (or any) shopping? I enjoy shopping in pleasant places, so I promise not to judge you if it's the latter. For groceries, I've mostly given up on the places that are a few cents cheaper on some items, but treat customers disrespectfully and are difficult to shop in.
The part about produce shopping that is a big drag (even with a car) is the shlepping. I hate wasting weekend time in overcrowded food stores, so I shop almost exclusively with Little Rag (and sometimes Andy), and just get the stuff home without RaggedyDad. The system I use has been described here before. I love my fruit store - now if only they delivered!
In our neighborhood, there are a few independent fruit stores, as well as kosher supermarkets and chain supermarkets that carry produce. In general, I try to shop for produce in the independents, because I like the prices and freshness there, and I do sort of like that 'earthy' fruit store feel. That earthiness is precisely the reason that some people choose not to shop in these places. To me, it's not grungy as much as it's close to the source of where all of these things actually grow.
There's one giant fruit superstore a few minutes away. People generally find it disgusting. I don't mind it much, and used to shop there from time to time. The kids like the lobster tank, and the prices and variety there are very good. They carry more interesting, ethnically-diverse produce than anyone in town. The sanitary level does leave a good deal to be desired. I once found a clementine crate full of kittens in the first shopping cart I wheeled out. Yikes. Also, the grocery prices there are not very good, so it definitely necessitates a trip to another store.
The chain supermarkets display clean, shiny produce, but the prices are high, and it doesn't seem like the turnover rate is all that good. The apples look so waxy-perfect - to me, that's not what I expect from fruit and veg.
The kosher supermarkets are also good for veg and fruit in a pinch, like when you're shopping for Shabbos, and only need a couple of produce items. In general, the prices (aside from occasional hit-or-miss store specials) are rather high there, too.
One of the independent stores carries very nice produce. A bonus is that it's one of the many stores on Main Street where I get to practice my Hebrew (and invariably get asked by someone if I'm French). Another bonus is nostalgia - it's named after a town that neighbors the town where I was born. This store is very popular in the neighborhood - I know quite a few people who "only go there." It is on the small side, and I'd say that it's one of those places where people seem to hate me for having a stroller.
Never one to conform, I've lately been loving a Bukharian-owned fruit store a few blocks further south. It gives me a chance to practice my other erstwhile language - Russian (just kidding - I totally don't have the nerve to speak Russian in public yet!)
It seems like their prices are the best around, and groceries there are a decent buy. I'm talking about a bunch of asparagus for 99 cents - where I see the same quantity in other places for 2.99/lb or more! (Although it's not always available) I used to buy the giant 10 lb. bag of onions for 2.99, but I find that there are always a few in there that aren't going to hold on for more than a couple of days. When I know there's a Yom Tov coming up, or that I'm making onion soup, I'll still buy the big onion bag, and sort it out right away.
The staples are always around, and for the rest, I try to go in there with the attitude that I'll see what looks good, and devise the veg portion of my menu around it. Beets and cabbage? Okay, we'll have borscht. Butternut squash looks nice and is 59 cents a pound? Sounds like a good side dish or soup.
Do you prioritize prices or a more pleasant shopping experience in your produce (or any) shopping? I enjoy shopping in pleasant places, so I promise not to judge you if it's the latter. For groceries, I've mostly given up on the places that are a few cents cheaper on some items, but treat customers disrespectfully and are difficult to shop in.
The part about produce shopping that is a big drag (even with a car) is the shlepping. I hate wasting weekend time in overcrowded food stores, so I shop almost exclusively with Little Rag (and sometimes Andy), and just get the stuff home without RaggedyDad. The system I use has been described here before. I love my fruit store - now if only they delivered!
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Hoping I Can
I work as a reading teacher, and these dayts, I tutor for a few hours a week. Ostensibly, I ought to be able to diagnose a child's reading difficulties, come up with a plan for remediation, and carry it out. I've been trained to do these things, and I enjoy my work.
But, like all people, I worry about my effectiveness. I'm sometimes plagued with the thought of, "I hope I can actually make headway with this child." Not because I perceive the student as ineducable (haven't met one of those yet). Not because I don't have confidence in what I need to do (although sometimes I doubt myself, as do we all). But mostly because sometimes, I know that you can do everything you are supposed to do 'by the book' and it still may or may not happen.
Sometimes there are underlying issues that you aren't aware of, be they emotional, neurological, or otherwise, that will stand in the way of the effectiveness of the work. Sometimes the rapport between a student and a teacher doesn't create the most conducive learning environment. Sometimes a student's retention is weak, and the headway you make during one session is lost the next.
I currently work with two great kids. One's father is a marine. The other's father wears a long beard and peyos. The boys are almost the same age. Their issues differ, and their lives differ even more. But in each case, before and after leaving their homes, early on a Sunday morning, late on a Sunday night, after Shabbos, or on weekday evenings when my own mother tells my kids that Mommy will be home shortly to get bathtime and bedtime underway, my silent thought is the same, "I hope I can help this child."
But, like all people, I worry about my effectiveness. I'm sometimes plagued with the thought of, "I hope I can actually make headway with this child." Not because I perceive the student as ineducable (haven't met one of those yet). Not because I don't have confidence in what I need to do (although sometimes I doubt myself, as do we all). But mostly because sometimes, I know that you can do everything you are supposed to do 'by the book' and it still may or may not happen.
Sometimes there are underlying issues that you aren't aware of, be they emotional, neurological, or otherwise, that will stand in the way of the effectiveness of the work. Sometimes the rapport between a student and a teacher doesn't create the most conducive learning environment. Sometimes a student's retention is weak, and the headway you make during one session is lost the next.
I currently work with two great kids. One's father is a marine. The other's father wears a long beard and peyos. The boys are almost the same age. Their issues differ, and their lives differ even more. But in each case, before and after leaving their homes, early on a Sunday morning, late on a Sunday night, after Shabbos, or on weekday evenings when my own mother tells my kids that Mommy will be home shortly to get bathtime and bedtime underway, my silent thought is the same, "I hope I can help this child."
Friday, November 07, 2008
Hold It
I know that I need to eat healthier. These years, it's really about setting a good example for the kids.
For some reason, lots of people have had the (mistaken) impression that I am a supremely healthy eater. I've had people assume that I'm a health nut, or a vegetarian, countless times. I'm really not sure why. Maybe because I'm so pale, they assume that I'm anemic due to a lack of iron from not eating meat. Or maybe that's a real stretch, and I just give off a healthy food vibe.
The truth of the matter is, I'm not the healthiest of eaters. I do love fruit, but vegetables usually require me just convince myself that I like them. I like to bake because I like what it yields: namely, baked goods. My classic response to a supper made by my mother that I didn't like was to go and toast a Lender's bagel with melted cheese. (Sorry, mom! I realize now how insulting and rude that was!)
One of my other vices is SALT. I like things salty. I tend to have a heavy hand when it comes to salting the potato kigel (very healthy, I know), or mac and cheese (classic supper for me when I wasn't cooking for the kids), or eggs. How can you enjoy sunny-side-up eggs without some salt?
On Wednesday evening, RaggedyDad and I went to Ann's Parent Orientation at school and the director of the preschool division was talking about an article that came out in the NY Times last week. It seems that all these higher salt foods have let to a rise in kidney stones in children! Kids, who almost never had something like kidney stones are suddenly developing them with much higher frequency.
I've tried a salt substitute, but I found it rather disgusting. So I'd rather just cut back on the salt. It's not good for any of us, and certainly not for RaggedyDad as we get, er, older. I'll just have to try to eliminate it a bit at a time from the things where it doesn't really matter much. As it is, I serve very few processed foods, so it's really just ME adding the salt myself (not sure if that makes it better or worse!).
It'll be a little less tasty, but hopefully, it'll be well worth it.
For some reason, lots of people have had the (mistaken) impression that I am a supremely healthy eater. I've had people assume that I'm a health nut, or a vegetarian, countless times. I'm really not sure why. Maybe because I'm so pale, they assume that I'm anemic due to a lack of iron from not eating meat. Or maybe that's a real stretch, and I just give off a healthy food vibe.
The truth of the matter is, I'm not the healthiest of eaters. I do love fruit, but vegetables usually require me just convince myself that I like them. I like to bake because I like what it yields: namely, baked goods. My classic response to a supper made by my mother that I didn't like was to go and toast a Lender's bagel with melted cheese. (Sorry, mom! I realize now how insulting and rude that was!)
One of my other vices is SALT. I like things salty. I tend to have a heavy hand when it comes to salting the potato kigel (very healthy, I know), or mac and cheese (classic supper for me when I wasn't cooking for the kids), or eggs. How can you enjoy sunny-side-up eggs without some salt?
On Wednesday evening, RaggedyDad and I went to Ann's Parent Orientation at school and the director of the preschool division was talking about an article that came out in the NY Times last week. It seems that all these higher salt foods have let to a rise in kidney stones in children! Kids, who almost never had something like kidney stones are suddenly developing them with much higher frequency.
I've tried a salt substitute, but I found it rather disgusting. So I'd rather just cut back on the salt. It's not good for any of us, and certainly not for RaggedyDad as we get, er, older. I'll just have to try to eliminate it a bit at a time from the things where it doesn't really matter much. As it is, I serve very few processed foods, so it's really just ME adding the salt myself (not sure if that makes it better or worse!).
It'll be a little less tasty, but hopefully, it'll be well worth it.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Coming Back - Low Key
I'd like to blog more often. Really, I would. I can't even say that I don't have time to blog, because some very busy people I know are active bloggers. I do have chunks of time now and then when I, ahem, must sit still with Little Rag, and that's often my computer time.
So the time is there, but then there's the emotional part to contend with. Nothing major, but just this overall feeling that if I am going to Put Up a Blog Post, it has to be a Grand Event with Something Meaningful to say. So thoughts of what to post about quickly get shooed away:
"People have already posted extensively about that topic."
"That's not important enough to warrant a blog posting."
"What will [insert particular imagined reader] think about THAT?! Forget it."
"It will take way too much time and effort to make that sound as eloquent as I'd like."
And so on. So the quest for perfection/pleasing people/impressing people with some witty observation about life actually becomes a major Blog-Kill.
Clearly, we are all flawed and simple in our own way. With the intent of writing something special, I usually wind up writing (or finishing drafts of), well, nothing.
So I'd like to post on a more frequent basis. And I think I will. But I'll be doing less self-editing, and less self-evaluating. Sometimes it'll be silly, or lame, or my ideas may be deemed insignificant or even wrong by some of you. But I think that at nearly 30, I'm starting to grow up enough to realize that that's really . . . okay.
So hi again!
So the time is there, but then there's the emotional part to contend with. Nothing major, but just this overall feeling that if I am going to Put Up a Blog Post, it has to be a Grand Event with Something Meaningful to say. So thoughts of what to post about quickly get shooed away:
"People have already posted extensively about that topic."
"That's not important enough to warrant a blog posting."
"What will [insert particular imagined reader] think about THAT?! Forget it."
"It will take way too much time and effort to make that sound as eloquent as I'd like."
And so on. So the quest for perfection/pleasing people/impressing people with some witty observation about life actually becomes a major Blog-Kill.
Clearly, we are all flawed and simple in our own way. With the intent of writing something special, I usually wind up writing (or finishing drafts of), well, nothing.
So I'd like to post on a more frequent basis. And I think I will. But I'll be doing less self-editing, and less self-evaluating. Sometimes it'll be silly, or lame, or my ideas may be deemed insignificant or even wrong by some of you. But I think that at nearly 30, I'm starting to grow up enough to realize that that's really . . . okay.
So hi again!
Monday, September 15, 2008
People Are Alike All Over
Although we've been home for a couple of weeks now from our trip, it's still very much on my mind. I wouldn't call myself the most well-traveled person around, but I've definitely been to a number of places around the globe. There is one common occurrence just about everywhere I go, and that's the subject of this post.
As I've mentioned, on this trip to Belgium, we rented a car which gave us the opportunity toescape go places we wouldn't have the ability to get to otherwise. One place we visited was the caves of Han-sur-Lesse, a huge cave system by the River Lesse in the French-speaking part of the country.
The French-speaking area of Belgium, or Wallonia, has its own distinct building style and overall look, different from Flanders, or the Flemish part (both photos below are of Wallonia).
Walking through the caves is done with the help of guides, and the lines lead you to guides given in either French or Flemish (Dutch). RaggedyDad knows both, but preferred Flemish. In order for me to understand the tour, though, he tried to find out whether an English tour would be starting anytime soon.
We walked up to the head of the line and stood off to the side to wait, and that's when I heard it. "Eldar! Tered mehagader! Achshav U'Miad!" (Eldar! Get down from the fence! Immediately!) Yes, indeed. We had stumbled upon a large contingent of Israeli visitors to Han-sur-Lesse. On a Hebrew tour, of course. And they were more than glad to have us piggy-back along on their tour. So we got to listen to descriptions of stalagmites and stalagtites in Hebrew, interspersed with some Flemish courtesy of a neighboring group, and exchanged some small talk with Israelis along the way.
I smiled to myself for a while about the Israeli tour. It's probably because I just notice the familiar more, but I seem to find Israelis wherever I go. For this trip, Han-sur-Lesse seemed to be our Israeli interaction locale.
Until we got to the airport back in Cologne, that is. Once quick glance at my passport (place of birth: Tel Aviv) and the security check-in person assigned to our family gave me a once-over. The first words out of her mouth? "Efshar lehamshich itach b'ivrit?"
As I've mentioned, on this trip to Belgium, we rented a car which gave us the opportunity to
The French-speaking area of Belgium, or Wallonia, has its own distinct building style and overall look, different from Flanders, or the Flemish part (both photos below are of Wallonia).
Walking through the caves is done with the help of guides, and the lines lead you to guides given in either French or Flemish (Dutch). RaggedyDad knows both, but preferred Flemish. In order for me to understand the tour, though, he tried to find out whether an English tour would be starting anytime soon.
We walked up to the head of the line and stood off to the side to wait, and that's when I heard it. "Eldar! Tered mehagader! Achshav U'Miad!" (Eldar! Get down from the fence! Immediately!) Yes, indeed. We had stumbled upon a large contingent of Israeli visitors to Han-sur-Lesse. On a Hebrew tour, of course. And they were more than glad to have us piggy-back along on their tour. So we got to listen to descriptions of stalagmites and stalagtites in Hebrew, interspersed with some Flemish courtesy of a neighboring group, and exchanged some small talk with Israelis along the way.
I smiled to myself for a while about the Israeli tour. It's probably because I just notice the familiar more, but I seem to find Israelis wherever I go. For this trip, Han-sur-Lesse seemed to be our Israeli interaction locale.
Until we got to the airport back in Cologne, that is. Once quick glance at my passport (place of birth: Tel Aviv) and the security check-in person assigned to our family gave me a once-over. The first words out of her mouth? "Efshar lehamshich itach b'ivrit?"
Thursday, September 04, 2008
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!
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
How to Make Jetlag Work for You!
Belgium is 6 hours ahead of New York. While we were away, we stayed with RaggedyDad's sister and her family in their home. They've got 2 daughters, aged 5 and nearly 2.
Summer schedule in their household means that bedtime is on the late side. Here, I usually get everyone to sleep between 6:30 and 7 p.m., though Little Rag wakes up at least twice over the course of the night. Bedtime in Belgium, between the sun going down late and the kids being busy with extended family, ran more about 9:30 or 10 p.m. The kids woke up later, too.
Rather than make some kind of doomed-to-fail attempt to recreate their home schedule, we only encouraged the kids in their gleeful staying up late and the sometimes inevitable later morning sleeping that followed.
This all meant that when we came home, it was just a couple of days of making the effort for them to stay awake until 5:30 or 6 p.m., since that was just a couple of hours 'later' for them in Belgian time. The gist of it all is that we're back for 3 days and are doing fairly well with their sleep.
The one caveat is that by 5 a.m. or so, everyone's up. But when I consider that from the perspective of the mature adult I pretend to be on some days, I realize that this is actually beneficial. Ann's got a much earlier morning from now on due to the BGST ("Big-Girl-School" Transition), so early mornings will be busy and productive around here. Wish us luck! Yawn!!
Summer schedule in their household means that bedtime is on the late side. Here, I usually get everyone to sleep between 6:30 and 7 p.m., though Little Rag wakes up at least twice over the course of the night. Bedtime in Belgium, between the sun going down late and the kids being busy with extended family, ran more about 9:30 or 10 p.m. The kids woke up later, too.
Rather than make some kind of doomed-to-fail attempt to recreate their home schedule, we only encouraged the kids in their gleeful staying up late and the sometimes inevitable later morning sleeping that followed.
This all meant that when we came home, it was just a couple of days of making the effort for them to stay awake until 5:30 or 6 p.m., since that was just a couple of hours 'later' for them in Belgian time. The gist of it all is that we're back for 3 days and are doing fairly well with their sleep.
The one caveat is that by 5 a.m. or so, everyone's up. But when I consider that from the perspective of the mature adult I pretend to be on some days, I realize that this is actually beneficial. Ann's got a much earlier morning from now on due to the BGST ("Big-Girl-School" Transition), so early mornings will be busy and productive around here. Wish us luck! Yawn!!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Behind Door #1 . . .
To quote Bob Barker,
"It's a NEW CAR!!!"
Or, at least, that's what it looks like every time I see one of these vehicles I've never, ever heard of here on the roads of Belgium. A bizarre, new car. RaggedyDad and I have spent much time discussing the aspects that make a car appealing or not, to consumers in various countries.
Care to drive away in a Nissan Qashqai???
"It's a NEW CAR!!!"
Or, at least, that's what it looks like every time I see one of these vehicles I've never, ever heard of here on the roads of Belgium. A bizarre, new car. RaggedyDad and I have spent much time discussing the aspects that make a car appealing or not, to consumers in various countries.
Care to drive away in a Nissan Qashqai???
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Maybe We'll Drive to Belgium Next Time?
I'm not a natural-born driver. When I first learned to drive, I was 18 and hyper-nervous. My mother doesn't drive, and somewhere along the way, I received LOTS of messages that denigrated women's driving skills. But I vowed not to grow up to be as limited as she is, not to live only where the buses go, not to put my kids in the position of finding rides for me to parent-teacher conferences.
So drive I did. But it didn't come easy. I had one formal teacher and several informal 'teachers'. My nerves were so tense about and while driving that I couldn't catch my breath. I actually went to see a pulmonary specialist who said that my breathing was fine, and to RELAX.
I'm glad to say that ten years later, I'm doing fine as a driver, and even do a not-so-terrible job parking the van despite admittedly terrible spatial intelligence, and it hasn't stopped me from carpooling, and the like. But driving in a foreign country? That is another story altogether.
This is my fifth time visiting my in-laws overseas. But it's our first time renting a car here. In previous years, we've used the "nothing-if-not-efficient" European train system. But at this point, it would be very difficult to get around without a car here.
We're staying at the home of RaggedyDad's sister, who lives in a bit of a more remote part of town. Think cows, horses, and sheep, a freight train humming nearby, hanging laundry out to dry outside (watch out for that fickle Belgian weather! It may rain at ANY moment! Lots more about that in another post), a chicken that keeps escaping from the neighbor's coop (I have personally grabbed the chicken kaparos-style and escorted her home several times!).
So this time, we have a car. Neither of us being knowledgeable in the ways of the stick shift (Ever notice how people in Europe take a certain pride in doing things the hard way?!), our car choices were limited. Cars here are small, oddly shaped, and have bizarre names (I should start jotting those down - that would be a post by itself!).
We managed to squeeze three carseats and our luggage into a low-level Mercedes. Sounds crazy! But it was oddly an affordable option! A van would have been a fortune to rent, and to drive - gas here is very costly. Also, the car is very basic. I'd say the only luxury touch is the gear-shift which has that turkey-neck-like bagginess to it.
Driving here is different. The signs look like that card game we used to play in Israel with the different road signs - they don't make sense to me, and they look fake. (Updated: I just spoke to my brother in Israel, who remembered that the game is called Taki. He's wrong - it is actually called RACE. He then went on to convince me that he's currently in a Taki league. And then to laugh at me when I believed the story. Some things NEVER change.)
Luckily, RaggedyDad actually knows what (almost) all of the road signs mean. There are usually two lanes, and it is assur to stay in the left lane. You must politely pass that truck (they're never in the left) and then get back into the right lane. It's possible that these are also laws in America, but I learned to drive in New York, where people with manners are our tourist friends who are blond and wear fanny-packs.
One more thing about drivers here is that they like to tail gate! There's nothing I hate worse than a tail gate. Maybe they're just doing it to us because our car's plates are German (still can't get over that whole thing). The coolest car here seems to be the Citroen, if only for the double-dots over the "E".
Despite all of the insanity, I'm glad we rented a car this time. The train trip alone back and forth for Shabbos (frum people and kosher anything are about an hour away) would have cost quite a bit at this point, a far cry from the days when it was just the two of us and we were young enough to buy a student-rate ticket. Not to mention getting to and from the train station (cars this small mean it's just about impossible for anyone to give us a ride) and the airport, or the center of town, etc.
And the car gave us the freedom to go to some different, cool places this time around - more about those next time . . .
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, August 15, 2008
So Big!
Congrats to baby Little Rag on his first birthday this past Tuesday. Not so little anymore, are we? Although, wait, does that make him just . . . Rag? Hmmm, maybe not.
Two days later, Little Rag took his first steps toward my mother! She and I both saw him do it, which was nice.
And being the good sport that he is, he didn't even mind sharing the birthday limelight with Andy, who could not be convinced that it wasn't also his birthday on Tuesday. Despite the fact that his actual birthday is in October. This comes just a couple of weeks after Ann's birthday, which was, um, also Andy's birthday. Yep. Every family has one of these kids.
Next up - - The Raggedys take to the friendly skies for a Big Trip!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Raggedy-ism #2
Lionosaur (lī-no-sɔr)
An undetermined, vicious roaring creature, commonly imitated by nearly-three-year-old boys on a regular basis.
Usage: "I'm getting you! I'm the big lionosaur! RRRRRRooooooaaaaarrrrrrr!!"
An undetermined, vicious roaring creature, commonly imitated by nearly-three-year-old boys on a regular basis.
Usage: "I'm getting you! I'm the big lionosaur! RRRRRRooooooaaaaarrrrrrr!!"
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Holding On
I've had people tell me that I'm crazy, but I try to make a habit of saving each of my kids' doodles, drawings, and school 'projects' until I have a chance to ask them if they're ready to part with it. Believe me, space is at a premium in our apartment, so I don't intend to keep their stuff forever.
Every so often, we review everything and determine whether it is still something special to keep or if we are ready to say goodbye to it. In this age of digital photos, we also take some time to photograph some of the ones we want to remember. Thankfully, my kids are yielding enough to be able to handle this ritual rather well.
In general, I tend not to be overly kid-centric about everything. That is, our kids' interests sort of flow out of our own. They are busy going about my day along with me (or maybe just too young to want to differentiate themselves all that much). Although we focus on their needs a great deal, I wouldn't say we're the type of family where the kids run the show. But this is one of the areas where I put their desire to hold on to their stuff ahead of my own desire to toss it.
Why?
I think that it goes back to my own childhood. I've written before about how my mother is neat in the extreme. Museum-level-house neat. Nevertheless, she did allow us free reign over our stuff. Piles of papers lay stacked on a chair or dresser until I had a chance to sort them out. I had shelves and cabinets filled with shoe boxes of treasures and scraps of things from school, from friends, from around.
I realize that it is impossible to save every piece of art or every little memory for my kids. But to throw it out behind their backs would feel like a betrayal. I know of people who routinely purge their children's collections or even sell or give away toys that are still being played with in the name of organizing.
To me, home to a child is where they can feel sure of the fact that what is theirs will be there for them when they wake up and when they come home. Those little treasures do mean a lot to them at this age, and if those can disappear with no prior warning, then the sense of control and order they feel is made all that much more precarious.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Morning Person
When I was dating RaggedyDad, there were some mornings when he asked me to call him and wake him up. He was in college at the time, and apparently, he and his roommate had such difficulty in the mornings that they set up a computer program called "Wake Me Up" that would set off an extremely loud alarm. Loud enough for security to come and bang on their door. "Wake Me Up" had woken the rest of the floor, but not RaggedyDad and his roommate.
This was incomprehensible to me. And it worried me. Was this an indication that he'd be unable to wake up for a job? For kids? Be irresponsible in general? Be undisciplined in other areas of his life?
In our home, my parents woke up Very Early. They are morning people to the extreme. I've mentioned before that my mother's extensive daily cleaning routine is usually finished at around 5:30 or 6 a.m. My dad is out of the house very early as well. I really can't remember waking up in the morning and finding my parents groggily ambling about in pajamas (like RaggedyDad and I do).
Thankfully, RaggedyDad's shtick was more or less a college thing. His alarm clock is extremely loud and annoying, and it may go off an extra time or two before he actually responds to it, but we have learned to live with it or even tune it out somewhat. He makes it out of the house early and calmly.
While we don't enjoy early morning life the way my parents do, we've come to terms with it. And I do finally agree with my mother about how much more productive it is to be busy in the early morning (although I guess Ezzie will probably comment that that depends on the individual or something).
Pre-kids, I taught 25 miles from home and had to be there by 8:30. But since Ann was born five years ago, I haven't had a pre-9 a.m. destination besides helping everyone at the breakfast table. I've had part-time jobs and she's been in preschool, but nothing started very early or was all that far away.
Next year, Ann's school day will start at 8:15. The bus will come considerably earlier than that. And of course, I'll need to get the boys ready so that I can bring them along to the bus stop.
A friend suggested I leave the younger kids at home with RaggedyDad while I venture out to the bus stop with Ann. "He's gone by then," I told her. My former late-riser, while not quite a Morning Person himself, sure does a good job of acting like one these days.
This was incomprehensible to me. And it worried me. Was this an indication that he'd be unable to wake up for a job? For kids? Be irresponsible in general? Be undisciplined in other areas of his life?
In our home, my parents woke up Very Early. They are morning people to the extreme. I've mentioned before that my mother's extensive daily cleaning routine is usually finished at around 5:30 or 6 a.m. My dad is out of the house very early as well. I really can't remember waking up in the morning and finding my parents groggily ambling about in pajamas (like RaggedyDad and I do).
Thankfully, RaggedyDad's shtick was more or less a college thing. His alarm clock is extremely loud and annoying, and it may go off an extra time or two before he actually responds to it, but we have learned to live with it or even tune it out somewhat. He makes it out of the house early and calmly.
While we don't enjoy early morning life the way my parents do, we've come to terms with it. And I do finally agree with my mother about how much more productive it is to be busy in the early morning (although I guess Ezzie will probably comment that that depends on the individual or something).
Pre-kids, I taught 25 miles from home and had to be there by 8:30. But since Ann was born five years ago, I haven't had a pre-9 a.m. destination besides helping everyone at the breakfast table. I've had part-time jobs and she's been in preschool, but nothing started very early or was all that far away.
Next year, Ann's school day will start at 8:15. The bus will come considerably earlier than that. And of course, I'll need to get the boys ready so that I can bring them along to the bus stop.
A friend suggested I leave the younger kids at home with RaggedyDad while I venture out to the bus stop with Ann. "He's gone by then," I told her. My former late-riser, while not quite a Morning Person himself, sure does a good job of acting like one these days.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Raggedy-ism #1
Garbagnik (gar-BAZH-nik)
One who finishes leftover food that is probably best thrown in the trash. In particular, an adult who finishes the children's leftovers.
Usage: RaggedyDad, stop being such a garbagnik with that soggy bowl of Ann's Cheerios! There can't be more than ten of them in there!
One who finishes leftover food that is probably best thrown in the trash. In particular, an adult who finishes the children's leftovers.
Usage: RaggedyDad, stop being such a garbagnik with that soggy bowl of Ann's Cheerios! There can't be more than ten of them in there!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The Power of Punctuation, or Queens, Represent!
While perusing the news, I came across a story that simultaneously surprised, delighted, and embarrassed me.
I've lived in Queens for 24 years. And I've always known what an undervalued asset Queens is to New York, to America, to all of humanity, even!
Queens and her integral airports! Her majestic Unisphere! Her endearing Archie-Bunker-style houses! Her confusing street names! My lovely borough of Queens! Finally, the recognition we deserve, albeit in the strangest of ways.
Not to mention, if I am able to get in on this bizarre scheme, tuition bills will be a joke!
And then I looked at the link more closely.
Queens Underwear Sells for Thousands
No. Wait. There's an apostrophe there, isn't there?
Queen's Underwear Sells for Thousands
Oh. Right. Not us.
I've lived in Queens for 24 years. And I've always known what an undervalued asset Queens is to New York, to America, to all of humanity, even!
Queens and her integral airports! Her majestic Unisphere! Her endearing Archie-Bunker-style houses! Her confusing street names! My lovely borough of Queens! Finally, the recognition we deserve, albeit in the strangest of ways.
Not to mention, if I am able to get in on this bizarre scheme, tuition bills will be a joke!
And then I looked at the link more closely.
Queens Underwear Sells for Thousands
No. Wait. There's an apostrophe there, isn't there?
Queen's Underwear Sells for Thousands
Oh. Right. Not us.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Goodbye, July
The summer always seems to end before it begins. Summertime in my mind lasts for about ten weeks, firmly between the end of the school year and the start of a new one. Go into the stores now, and school supplies already line the shelves! Talk about a drag for kids!
This year's summer Sundays are more constrained than usual, due mostly to the fact that (this year) the period of Jewish mourning known as the Three Weeks both begins and ends on a Sunday.Two of the Sundays are Fast Days, and a third is during the even more serious Nine Days. And our upcoming trip starts on a Sunday and ends two Sundays later (more on that in an upcoming post), so there go another three Sundays.
Oh, and those nice still warm Sundays in September? RaggedyDad will be in school all day for two of them, and one of them is the day before Erev Rosh Hashana.
Now that the kids are out of camp, I'm trying to do some summer things with them on my own, since I know our Sundays with RaggedyDad are so limited. Until I was five, on just about every day that the weather allowed it, my mother and I took the bus from Givatayim to the beach in Tel Aviv. So although I am a Very Pale Person, I also feel very much at home at the beach.
Beach air is great (unless someone's smoking near you - yuck), and the Coppertone smells exactly the same as it did when I was eight years old and on a bus to day camp.
Yesterday, we went to the beach in Far Rockaway. Going alone to the beach with three small children, while fun at times, well, I can't really recommend it to anyone sane.
Thankfully, everyone listened, and stayed close, and the baby barely ate any sand, and we sat within spitting distance of lifeguards. But as anyone who has been to the beach, or especially taken kids, it's not the beach time itself that is the challenge. It's the sandy, messy, disastrous clean-up. Despite it all, we had a great, great time. And -- there is no sleep like the sleep after time spent at the beach.
Although the summer is not quite waning yet, when July ends, it reminds me of the poem that ends Alice and Through the Looking Glass:
. . . Echoes fade and memories die
Autumn frosts have slain July
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes
Children yet, the tale to hear
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream --
Lingering in the golden gleam --
Life, what is it but a dream?
This year's summer Sundays are more constrained than usual, due mostly to the fact that (this year) the period of Jewish mourning known as the Three Weeks both begins and ends on a Sunday.Two of the Sundays are Fast Days, and a third is during the even more serious Nine Days. And our upcoming trip starts on a Sunday and ends two Sundays later (more on that in an upcoming post), so there go another three Sundays.
Oh, and those nice still warm Sundays in September? RaggedyDad will be in school all day for two of them, and one of them is the day before Erev Rosh Hashana.
Now that the kids are out of camp, I'm trying to do some summer things with them on my own, since I know our Sundays with RaggedyDad are so limited. Until I was five, on just about every day that the weather allowed it, my mother and I took the bus from Givatayim to the beach in Tel Aviv. So although I am a Very Pale Person, I also feel very much at home at the beach.
Beach air is great (unless someone's smoking near you - yuck), and the Coppertone smells exactly the same as it did when I was eight years old and on a bus to day camp.
Yesterday, we went to the beach in Far Rockaway. Going alone to the beach with three small children, while fun at times, well, I can't really recommend it to anyone sane.
Thankfully, everyone listened, and stayed close, and the baby barely ate any sand, and we sat within spitting distance of lifeguards. But as anyone who has been to the beach, or especially taken kids, it's not the beach time itself that is the challenge. It's the sandy, messy, disastrous clean-up. Despite it all, we had a great, great time. And -- there is no sleep like the sleep after time spent at the beach.
Although the summer is not quite waning yet, when July ends, it reminds me of the poem that ends Alice and Through the Looking Glass:
. . . Echoes fade and memories die
Autumn frosts have slain July
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes
Children yet, the tale to hear
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream --
Lingering in the golden gleam --
Life, what is it but a dream?
Friday, July 25, 2008
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?
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?
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