littleyellownotepad

Homework Havoc

March 25, 2014July 17, 2018 littleyellownotepad

Homework

It’s so predictable. It’s always during bath time. Always during supper time. Always during cranky hours. Always when everyone is home and needs attention. And needs to be served. And needs to be cleaned up.

And low and behold, in the midst of the happy hours of evening routine, when parents are running in ten directions trying to keep the house standing, is the dreaded H word – homework.

I don’t know who invented it, but it certainly was not a mom. It doesn’t line up with a typical family lifestyle.

At most, it’s good for a home with spare parents hanging around.

But since I don’t have that, it just simply doesn’t work. And despite the unique schooling my kids have, a combination of homeschooling and online schooling, the hours of 4-8 pm are the same in all homes. It’s kind of like the common thread that unites us. Unites moms across the world.

It’s another H word – Havoc.

Ok, when I was a young teacher, I have a vague memory of viewing homework differently.

I have a bit of forgiveness to ask from some moms of my young first graders, to whom I so patiently explained all the important life-altering benefits of homework. Why it was crucial to a child’s success.

I have since discovered more crucial components of a child’s success. Like shower, pajamas and bedtime. On time. Without homework being done.

Or a calm mom. One that’s not trying to do 2nd grade math, 3rd grade creating writing, 5th grade project of some sort, changing a pamper and washing dishes, all at the same time.

Or just hanging out and playing with their siblings, jumping on the trampoline or digging up the backyard. Playing. Playing in a stress free house, because there’s no stressed out mom stressing about homework. Yes, playing is a crucial component to a child’s success too.

It’s time for the Homework Revolution. Moms fight back.

Review is important. I know the drill; kids need to review what they study. I’m OK with that idea. It makes sense.

When parents decide to send their kids to school, usually it’s because they want to outsource the academics. And just as we moms don’t send our kids to school with a change of clothes and expect the teachers to shower them, or with dry ingredients and expect them to prepare dinner and send it home with our kids, well then, teachers shouldn’t send school work that needs to be completed at home. Fair is fair, agree?

So I’d like to initiate a new idea; the last class of each school day will be called homework, and every student can review their work and make projects in peace. Without oil stains and drink spills on each page.

All in favor say “aye”!

Life in General

The War Against The Piles

March 22, 2014 littleyellownotepad

I was waging the War Against The Piles.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I groaned as I came across another pile. Pile of clutter.

Why oh why can’t the surfaces in this house stay clear?!

When there is a clear surface, it lasts for a mere few minutes!

Pile of someone’s red raffle tickets (where did they get them from anyway?) on the the third bookshelf in the family room. Pile of someone’s marble collection on the fourth bookshelf. Pile of yet another child’s abandoned coloring sheet collection on my right kitchen counter. And there center stage on my kitchen island was a pile of Lego from the “precious pieces” collection. Someone’s coin collection hiding in another corner.

They each have their own storage bin, they have drawers and closets and plenty of place for their stuff. Why can’t they keep their stuff where it belongs?

Pile of mail. Pile of MY lists, topped with my little yellow notepad, on my left kitchen counters. Now I feel indignant. It’s MY kitchen anyway, so that’s allowed!

When we moved into this house one year ago, I clearly remember looking at all the clear surfaces (before we unpacked!) and making a silent commitment to myself; this house is going to be clutter free. Pile free. Stuff free. Only necessities. Just like those photos in the Better Home magazines…miles of sparkling, clear surfaces. Clear bookshelves. Clear counters.

Nothing on the counter! No canisters, no ingredients, no fruit basket. Nothing nothing nothing. It would be so beautiful.

And after I heard rumors of people who actually keep their kitchen like that, I was sold. I was going to be one of them.

And this kitchen had a nice big island counter. The type you have a love-hate relationships with. The one that’s a magnet to STUFF and looks amazingly refreshing when clear.

And it worked. For two days. Three days!

And then we unpacked.

But I was anti STUFF. All things had a place, and if it didn’t, then it was labeled STUFF and put far away from any surface.

A week went by. I was on a roll!

And then real life kicked in.

Kids made new projects. They got new coloring sheets. They colored and then piled it on the counter while they ran off.

Kids played with their valuables and needed a place to keep it “till they come back.”

Scissors needed to be put up higher so little hands didn’t give themselves a haircut. Glue needed to go even higher so the dishes weren’t glued to the table. The top bookshelf was getting full.

And I needed to reevaluate my optimistic plan. But I didn’t want to give it up. The counters were so nice and refreshing when sparkling and clear.

True, it made cooking a pain in the neck! Nothing was at arm’s reach… and no one was eating fruit, it just wasn’t accessible enough…but still!

And that’s when I took a closer look at my piles of STUFF. My clutter on the bookshelves. The stuff on high surfaces. I examined it closely.

This was not merely STUFF. No, not at all! This was the sign of life!

The sign of people. Big and small. Active people. Little hands working on their projects. Little minds growing and developing. Adults busy with life. Busy nurturing and caring for their children. A kitchen where people eat in! Where food is cooked with love. And a lot of it. And often. And lots of signs around to show for it. Kids who trusted their parents with their “valuables” and therefore left them where they can watch them.

It didn’t have to be a war. It wasn’t a war!

There was another way to tackle it.

And at that moment I decided that I would attempt the “friendly relationship” tactic. Not a truce. Not a compromise. I was going for outright friendship.

I wanted all that this represented. I cherished it. And if this was the outcome of getting what I wanted, well then, I would be best friends with it.

It’s still clutter. It’s still piles. And I still tell everyone to put their stuff where it belongs. But I am not at war. I will still tackle it, but with an appreciation for what it represents.

It’s a real home. A warm and loving, vibrant home. And I’m the one who can make sure my home stays like that.

Motherhood

How us moms get things done

March 17, 2014March 17, 2014 littleyellownotepad

The laundry. I need to switch the stuff from the washing machine and put it in the dryer. It should only take a minute.

I walk towards the laundry room. I pass the bathroom. I see the hand towel on the floor. Ugh, I need to get a new towel in there.

I detour to the towel cabinet and grab a clean towel. I pass through the playroom. What’s that on the floor? With the baby crawling around, I’m constantly doing a quick scan wherever I go. I grab the unidentified object and stop in my son’s room and put it on his desk; I believe it’s his. I see his hamper overflowing.

Oh right, I was on the way to switch the laundry; perfect, I’ll take this with me.

I grab the basket and notice the towel on my shoulder. The bathroom-let me get this towel there. I stop at the bathroom and leave the laundry basket at the door. Put up the new towel. I see there’s not much toilet paper left. Let me run to the garage and restock the toilet paper.

I hop into the garage and notice two bags of groceries left out there, grab them and bring them to the kitchen and put the perishables in the refrigerator. What’s that bowl of I-don’t-know-what color stuff in there? It’s certainly overstayed its invite, time to dump.

I hear a voice from somewhere in the kitchen, “Get me down! I’m stuck!”

How did he get up there?

In this house full of boys, I usually enforce the rule of if you climbed up there, you figure out how to get down from there. But this once I break my rule and help him down, I think even he can’t figure out how he got up there!

Right, the toilet paper. I stack toilet paper in the toilet paper stacker thing and head in the direction of the laundry room, not remembering what I want to do there but knowing that that’s where I was heading.

I pass the hallway closet, and stop. I stand very still. Sure enough, I hear muffled voices. Before opening the door, I already know what’s going on in there.

“Guys, give me my phone.”

I know I’m breaking up quite the party with my 4 and 3 yr old sitting huddled deep in the closet, posting on Facebook and Whatsapp things that don’t belong there. I reclaim my phone, one of the few things in the house I call MINE.

It needs to be charged so I dash to the kitchen and plug it in, where it had been before it was swiped. I leave it in a corner of the counter, strategically hiding it behind the roll of paper towels.

And I notice the baby monitor; it’s making strange noises. I can’t help but smile and scowl at the same time; my kids are obsessed with putting it on the “popcorn channel” as they call it. Y’know that horrible sound you get when the two channels aren’t lined up? Well, they insist it’s the baby making popcorn in his crib. I switch it to channel B and sure enough, baby is up from his nap. I sneak into my room to go get him without my entourage.

I change him, give him lunch, clean him up, settle him to play. Uh oh dinner, the rest of the kids will be home soon. Where did the day go? I better keep my golden supper schedule…not that it guarantees they’ll eat it, but at least I have what to defend myself with. “You guys helped me make this meal plan, remember!?”

Kids are all home. It’s the time of day I feel like I’m on the conveyor belt at the grocery store, it just keeps moving and I can’t keep up! Plates, forks, napkins, spills. Clean up and mores spills. Someone pushed someone’s something somewhere, I’m not quite sure of the details but it wasn’t me!

Crash..ice cubes dance across the kitchen floor, what is with those ice machine on the front of the freezer door!! I wonder if somewhere there’s a little sticker that says ages 12+, maybe I missed it.

And then it happened. It was time to get in pajamas. First one little voice, then two, then three. “Mommy, I don’t have any pajamas in my drawer!”

And it hits me. The washing machine. The dryer.

And I stride purposefully to the laundry room to switch the wet load to the dryer. I pass my son’s laundry basket waiting so patiently outside the bathroom and take it with me.

You know us moms; we’re wonderwoman. We just know how to get things done. And we still think that it’ll only take a minute.

Life in General

“…more than you’ll ever know.”

March 12, 2014May 16, 2020 littleyellownotepad

Today is a very difficult day. My mind is numb, my heart is numb, my entire being feels numb.

A dear fellow Shlucha, Rashi Minkowitz, a young mother of a beautiful family, a young wife, a woman dedicated to reaching out to all those who came her way and share the joy of Judaism, passed away suddenly. She shared the same life goal as myself and many others like me.

From Facebook and any other forum informing of this tragic news, the comments are thousands. This is one woman. One mother. One Shlucha. One wife. One daughter and sister. Who impacted more people than she possibly ever imagined.

There aren’t adequate words to describe the emotions; the pain of her young children, the pain of her husband. No words suffice to describe the terrible loss and tragedy.

While my mind is numb, it is also racing. Racing with thoughts of what can I do to honor her.

Last week I got an email from a woman I know locally, someone I’ve had minimal interaction with. She wrote to apologize for her not being in touch or responding to my emails, explaining it is not personal and she is dealing with many challenges. And she is. I believe her. But it was the last line of her email that stayed with me:

“I respect you more than you’ll ever know.”

I thought about that line over the past week quite a few times; and today, in the hours after hearing about the sudden passing of such a wonderful, young, energetic mother, wife and role model, this last sentence rings in my ears.

“I respect you more than you’ll ever know.”

I’ve said something like that on many occasions; we all use that line. And I can’t help but wonder; why don’t we let those whom we respect know just how much we respect them?

If we respect them so much, why don’t we tell them?

If we care so much, why don’t we make sure they know?

If they impact our life, why not communicate it to them?

If someone has made a difference to me, why don’t I share that with the person who made the difference?

We are constantly touched by people around us, people who encourage us, whether directly or indirectly. Do we tell them? Do they know?

We all want to make a difference. And we all want to be acknowledged and appreciated.

Do the people who have influenced my life, the way I am, what I believe in, my self esteem; do they know? Or do I silently appreciate them, “more than they’ll ever know.”

I don’t want to thank in silence anymore. It will take effort. At times it will take humility too. And sometimes it will even take stepping out of my comfort zone. Making phone calls that will take energy. But I want to let them know. After all, I would want to know too.

And while this doesn’t change the tragedy and pain, it gives me an outlet for my emotions.

And I hope Rashi knew how great of an impact she had on the world around her.

May her memory be for blessing.

Motherhood

Which two do you choose?

March 10, 2014July 17, 2018 littleyellownotepad

I wasn’t that great of a mother on Friday.

I discouraged all creativity. Anything that required using actual household stuff was forbidden. No toys were to be played with. I limited snacks to non-crumb foods. I encouraged the kids to do alternative play – like sit on the couch and count floor tiles. They played I Spy for a bit. But we couldn’t do it all day!

But I was a good house cleaner. The house was cleaned, just the way I like it.

All week I work towards the goal of a calm Friday afternoon; with all the Shabbos prep that has to be done, there are lots of opportunities for it to be a not-so-calm day. So as I go about my week, I plan, plan, plan so that Friday will work they way I like it.

And the secret that make it work is my house cleaner; she comes and puts the house back together after I’m done with the cooking. And there’s a lot of cooking. And a lot of unsupervised play.

But it works. The kids are happy, I’m happy, my husbands happy and I bet the house cleaner is happy too; it’s a calm day for everyone.

This past Friday was different. The house cleaner wasn’t coming. I had two choices; hire a fill-in, which means following her around the house giving directions; not something I had extra patience for; or do it myself. I chose to do it myself. Turns out I’m a pretty good house cleaner too, if that was all I needed to focus on.

But it also turns out, that you can’t do it all. I can’t say for certain that my kids were all that well cared for.

You can have happy kids. You can have a clean house. And you can be sane. But from my experience, I can’t get all three if I’m doing all the work.

The way I see it, there are four ” seasons” of a mom’s perspective on cleaning help.

There’s the help-I-need-more-cleaning-help season, where it seems like everyone I know has more help than I do and it’s just not fair!

Then there is the guilt-starting season of maybe-I’m-just-lazy-and-I-really-can-do-all-of-this-myself season, because so-and-so does it all by herself...but that’s usually followed quickly by the well-she(this time yet another mom)-has way-more-help-then-me smug feeling of I do do so much myself…

But that one usually follows quickly by the help-I-need-more-cleaning-help thoughts…

You get the idea!

I can go through all four “seasons” in one hour.

But after walking the walk of the cleaning lady last Friday afternoon, I think I have enough proof to counteract those moments of second guessing my dependence on my cleaning help; yes, I have cleaning help. Yes, I need cleaning help. Yes, I rely on my cleaning help.

But on the flip side, I’m also sane. My kids are happy. So is my husband. And so is my house cleaner.