Category: Life in General

I’ve discovered the perfect workout that incorporates mind, body and soul. It uses every part of one’s being; there’s movement, there’s memory stimulation, there’s creativity, there’s cardio benefits…you name it, it has it all. It keeps your body young and your brain strong.

It’s called making snack and lunches for your kids to take to school.

Of course every mom knows that to be most efficient, snacks and lunches are to be made the night before school. It’s not rocket science; it’s common sense.

But despite that, I often still don’t do it in advance.

Quite frankly, by the time everyone is in bed and supper is (more or less) cleaned up, the last thing I want to do is get back in the kitchen and start all over again.

I’d much rather plop on the couch and do nothing.

Or sit down with my husband and have a tea.

Or make a list of all the things I didn’t get to on that day.

But I definitely do not want to make snacks and lunches.

I just want a break.

And so I willingly choose the inefficient way.

And it really is the best all body and mind workout you can ask for.

The day starts bright and early and I begin the marathon routine as soon as I get into the kitchen.

“I don’t want a sandwhich.”

“You have to have a lunch.”

“Ok, cheese and ketchup, open in the oven.”

“I want cheese and ketchup closed in the sandwhich maker.”

“Make sure the ketchup reaches the edge of the bread.”

“I want just the cheese, not the ketchup.”

“But yesterday you wanted with ketchup, you sure you don’t want that again?”

“That was yesterday, today I don’t want it.”

“Ok guys, do I have it right,” I ask for the fifth time, as I rotate between the fridge, oven and counters.

“Two open sandwiches no ketchup, one closed sandwich lots of ketchup, three bagels and cream cheese, one closed sandwich only cheese ?”

“No!”

Grr… I gotta work on my memory…

And so we go through it all again.

My hands move, my mouth talks, my brain calculates and dictates and my feet keep running.

“Everyone likes baby carrots, right?”

“Yeah!”

“No!”

“Maybe.”

“Not today.”

“Only yesterday.”

I quietly sneak them into everyone’s lunches anyway, hoping I won’t get caught.

They tell me they need 5 snacks because they get sooooo hungry.

I tell them it’s ok to be hungry.

Pretzels.

“Only the skinny ones!”

“Do we have the big ones?”

“Can I taste some?”

“You guys eat breakfast; this stuff is for school.”

“Hey, what’s that?”

“You’ll see it in your lunch; go eat breakfast.”

It’s my latest experiment recipe of well disguised banana muffins…I know I’ll get caught but I still casually add them to the lunchbags.

Chummus or gaucamole…I can’t seem to remember who wants which one.

Granola bars.

Three want peanut butter, two want regular, two don’t want.

Chips.

Three want plain, two want hot and spicy and two want both – well today we are giving out plain.

There.

One sandwhich.

5 snacks.

7 lunchbags in all different colors, standing straight like soldiers, hoping not to be left at home.

They’ll still tell me they were hungry.

I’ll tell them it’s ok to be hungry.

They’ll tell me they were starving.

I’ll say that’s fine; starving people eat whatever food they have, even if it’s their granola bar that they refuse to touch.

There’s a rhythm to it all, and my workout finally winds down.

Cardio, check.

Muscle toning, check.

Brain stimulation, check.

Creativity, check.

Strengthening memory, check.

Hand-eye coordination, check

True, it’s not the most efficient system.

But who says everything in life has to be done efficiently.

 

I’ve always had bins of stuff.

Being organized doesn’t mean you throw things out; it means you are very good at storing your stuff in containers. Birthday cards since I turned 4, report cards and other important things like that.

That was what prompted me to get my kids storage containers; I understood the need for stuff,

We put them on a shelf in the garage with clear directions that that’s where all their stuff belonged.

Still, though, odds and ends showed up on my counters, bookshelves and in my cutlery drawers. I dutifully removed anything that didn’t belong in my space and put it in theirs. I was using their containers; they were not.

Time for a new plan. I moved each child’s storage container to his/her room, found a good spot for each one, and we were good to go.

I was ready to reclaim my counters. Only my stuff belonged there.

It was good for a little while and then it started happening again.

I pulled a Siddur off the bookshelf and out came 3 sticky hands and a bouncy ball.

I reached to get a salad bowl in my cabinet and out came two lego guys, one set of lego pants and a strange looking Lego head.

I reminded everyone about the rules. I put the stuff in their boxes.

But it still wasn’t working.

Ok, they needed something convenient. Maybe if it was right near the kitchen, close to the apparently very popular cabinets, counters and drawers, then maybe just maybe they would keep their stuff where it belonged.

I told them I was not going to be the police of their precious stuff. They had to find safe places that didn’t involve me.

And so I figured out the perfect arrangement that would work, for sure.

I fell in love with it at Ikea and knew it was the answer to keeping everything in its place. There was room for books and games, and most importantly, enough cubby space for each of my kids to have their own bin stowed there.

We did the great change-over.

I knew it would work. I could smell success.

They were excited too.

Only a day later I found someone’s collection of plastic frogs in my oven mitt drawer. I quietly put it back and didn’t make a big deal about it.

Then I found a slap bracelet and a light-up pen were my forks belonged.

And yesterday, when I pulled my Pyrex tray out of the milchig cabinet, I got hit by a pack of cards and a bag of marbles.

What is going on here, why aren’t they keeping their stuff where it belongs??

“Whose are these? They belong in your bin!” I called to noone in particular; but it didn’t really matter because the kids were all outside playing; no one heard me anyway.

And it finally clicked.

I was missing the point.

It was not a matter of having a place to keep their stuff.

It was about a place to keep their most precious stuff of all their stuff.

They want it in my kitchen.

They feel safe if it’s in my kitchen.

They feel safe it it’s in my space.

They feel safe if it’s with me.

Me, their mother.

They trust me.

With their most precious items.

Sure, it’s annoying-

But what a compliment!

No matter how hard I’m trying to train them not to trust me, it’s (thankfully!) not working.

I quickly and carefully tuck the cards and marbles into their hiding place behind the rest of the Pyrex trays and close the cabinet door.

They are right.

They can always trust me.

I  will happily take the compliment.

 

 

I hate my couch.

Truthfully, it’s not the end of the world to hate your couch.

But here’s the problem with my couch.

It’s less than a year old. And I chose it.

And I hate it.

The old couches were looking like they needed a bit of an upgrade, and when they marked their tenth birthday, I started scouting for new ones.

Going into a store to browse is something of the past – and the distant future. Online shopping is way less traumatic than having all the kids traipsing through a furniture store.

And so I scouted. And browsed. And searched. And narrowed down my options.

I pride myself in being an experienced mom of boys, so there were two criteria for my new dream couches. 1. All the cushions had to be attached. (If you only have daughters and can’t figure out why, let’s just stay in a boy’s life, anything not attached to its source is meant to be used as a sports ball of any type.)

2. It had to be a dark color. So that I would not get aggravated with every mark and spill.

And no fabric. Genuine leather or faux leather doesn’t bother me, as long as it can be wiped down.

Pretty easy to please.

I found just the couch I wanted. L-shaped with plenty of space, dark color, cushions attached. I was ready to make the big purchase.

I read the fine print and the big print, up and down, and all the reviews. I got my husband’s approval of the couch and I was good to go.

The couch was delivered on a Friday.

The delivery guys set it up and left.

And before I could even sit down to appreciate it, one of my boys was holding a cushion in his hands.

And then another.

And then gleeful shouting.

And the reality sank in.

The. Cushions. Were. Not. Attached.

Six big brown cushions, to make towers and forts and slides and sleds. All the things of my nightmares, all the things of their dreams.  All the things me, the experienced mother of boys, was so confident about avoiding.

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry.

I definitely wanted to cry.

The kids were having a blast.

This can’t be happening!

Visions of the next ten years flashed through my mind, threatening, warning, reminding, and repeating to leave the pillows on the couch.

NO! NO! NO!

I found my phone and a quiet corner to call my husband.

“They’re not attached!!” I yelled into the phone.

He wasn’t quite as alarmed as I was, but did voice his surprise, considering the couch description we had seen.

I had to calm down and come up with a plan.

I had to think rationally.

I had to make a reasonable consequence for taking the pillows off the couch.

No Shabbos party for a year?

No, too impractical.

No videos for three years?

No, too harsh.

The squeals and laughs from the other room were interrupting my brainstorming.

After a few more minutes, I had it. Something not too drastic but drastic enough. Something they’d care to lose and was realistic to implement.

I let the kids have a few more minutes of fun and then called an emergency meeting.

In my most serious voice I told the kids that I was establishing a new rule.

No one was allowed to take the pillows off the couch.

The couch is for sitting.

The trampoline is for jumping and the slide outside is for sliding, the climbing dome for climbing.

The couch pillows are for sitting only.

And anyone who would be caught taking the pillows off would lose computer time for three weeks.

They all nodded seriously.

I had a fleeting feeling that it would be ok.

But it didn’t last long.

It took less than an hour till the first kid came to report that someone had taken the pillows off.

And apparently my toddler hadn’t been impressed with the consequence either.

I don’t know what I was thinking, but it really was not a good plan. Because really, if the pillows are not attached, then kids, by definition, will take them off.

I couldn’t keep up. I had lost, royally.

I started avoiding going into the living room and pretending not to see, so that I wouldn’t have to add another three weeks to  the already 5 months computer time that some of the kids had lost, (which I knew about because one of my other kids was counting, because he loves to keep a tally).

And the kids pretended not to remember what I had told them and not to notice that I wasn’t seeing on purpose.

I emailed the company and begged, TAKE IT BACK!! This was false advertising!

They couldn’t do that but offered me a steep discount.

I took it, but that helped my aggravation for only  a few more days.

I hated the couch. I hated seeing six cushions spread across the living room.

It was time to make a decision.

Instead of giving my kids 3 choices, I gave it to myself.

Choice 1: Spend the next 10 years, until we get another couch, being the official Couch Police.

Choice 2: Get rid of the couch.

Choice 3: Figure out a way to not be so bothered by the couch.

I had tried Choice 1 and I really didn’t like it as a career.

Choice 2 wasn’t an option because the couches were only a few weeks old; I couldn’t toss them and just buy new ones.

I was left with Choice 3, which was easier said than done.

Try as I could, the sight of the cushions on the floor was driving me crazy. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I had to figure out a way to deal with it.

And then I thought of it. The 80/20 rule. It fit here perfectly.

I was spending 80% of my energy on something that had less than 20% of importance to my life.

And that didn’t make any sense.

Ok, I hated the couch. Couch cushions on the floor might be a pet peeve of mine, but it did not deserve 80% of my energy.

With a house full of boys, there’s no end to the things I can react to and deplete my energy in no time.

I would make the 80/20 rule my measuring stick.

Sure, I would still remind them to pick up the pillows, put them back and tell them not to make towers.

Sometimes.

And sometimes, or many times, I would ignore it.

But I would keep the bulk of my energy for where I can make positive changes in them as people, and not just in their typical kid behavior.

I would reserve 80% of my energy for where the dividends would be a lot greater than a 20% impact on our family.

And really, that goes for every area in life. Sometimes we put in 80% effort and yield only 20% results and sometimes 20% effort brings the 80% we so badly need.

It was time to re-evaluate what was important. And couch pillows just doesn’t make the list.

 

This week, for the very first time, I got a call from Gallup doing a study on something or other in America.I declined to participate, but it got me thinking. Coming off election season, it seems all everyone is doing all day is taking polls.

So I figured I’d hop on the bandwagon and do a little study on my own too. Only this one won’t cost us any of tax payer’s money..

The goal of this poll, just like Gallup, is “to deliver relevant, timely, and visionary research on what (children) around the world think and feel. Using impeccable data and behavioral indicators that are vital to strategic plans,” I present to you the Gallup-ing Poll.

To emphasize, all the children in this study are being brought up under the same guidance, environment, rules and adult love and care. Therefore, we cannot say that any of the results are based on the environment, surrounding, exposure or anything of the like. And the results are astounding – see for yourself!

4 out of 7 children, between the ages of 2 – 12, born to the same mother, will put their shoes in their cubby where they are supposed to, while 3 out of 7 will not.

2 out of 8 children will get ready for bed the first time they are told, 1 out of 8 will need to be told 3 times and 5 out of 8 will need to be led by the hand.

And yes, just to reiterate, they are all born to the same mother, raised in the same house with the same rules

2 out of 2 children, between ages 2-3, will prefer to write on the wall than on a sheet of paper.

7 out of 8 children will prefer not to clean up their spot at the table after mealtimes.

4 out of 8 children will need to be told twice, and 3 out of 7 will need to be threatened before clearing their spot.

1 out of 8 children will naturally put their clothing in the hamper.

4 out of 8 children will slurp their spaghetti and ketchup so that it sprays red spots all over the kitchen.

2 out of 8 children will wear their food by the time the meal is over.

2 out of 8 children can wear their clothes for two days straight and it will still be as good as new.

1 out of 8 children needs new shoes every 6 weeks, while 2 out of 8 children can wear their shoes for a year straight and still get more use out of them.

5 out of 8, raised with the same rules, will dump their dirty clothes in any spot they so wish.

1 out of 8 children will only need to be told twice, and then will pick up their clothes and put it in the hamper.

1 out of 8 children will always clean their spot and tidy up around them and leave no trace of their mess.

2 out of 2 children, between the ages of 2-3, enjoy painting toothpaste on the bathroom mirror.

0 out of 2 children, between the ages of 2-3, will put the caps back on the markers they are using.

1 out of 1 newly toilet trained child will enjoy pulling a roll of toilet paper as far as it can go.

2 out of 7 children going to school will misbehave and be sent out of class.

1 out of 7 children will not want to go to school.

4 out of 7 children will love going to school every day.

2 out of 7 children who go to school will get dressed the moment they wake up.

3 out of 7 children will wait until 2 minutes before it’s time to leave, and then get dressed.

And there will always be 1 out of 7 children who will start to get dressed 2 minutes after we were supposed to leave.

3 out of 7 children will do homework on their own.

1 out of 7 children will not do homework, ever.

4 out of 8 children look forward to bath/shower night.

2 out of 8 children only want to shower in the morning.

2 out of 8 shower prefer not to shower at all.

2 out of 8 children wear their socks and shoes from the moment they wake up until bedtime.

4 out of 8 children will put on their socks only when they are ready to leave the house.

1 out of 8 children will prefer to go barefoot, both inside and outside.

3 out of 8 children love to read.

2 out of 8 children love to bake.

1 out of 8 children will help in the kitchen when asked.

1 out of 8 children will ask to help.

4 out of 8 children prefer not to help at all.

The conclusion:

8 out of 8 children, growing up in identical environments, will each grow and blossom at their own pace. Each will have their own personality and will not conform to those around them.

Treat each child like their own world. And my fellow parents, let’s stop blaming ourselves for every time one of our children doesn’t act the way we want them to.

Have you ever played Jenga? It’s a pretty neat little game, but I never realized that being a mom includes being really good at Jenga. Real life Jenga.

In case you’re not familiar, Jenga is that game with small wooden rectangles that you stack very cautiously and sometimes seemingly precariously, and then hold your breath that they don’t all topple over… And just as you slowly get that last piece at the top of the tower in place, the toddler or crawling baby will happen to whiz right into it, knocking the tower in every direction and causing screams and cries from all those involved. And then for the next two weeks, these Jenga rectangles will show up in every corner of the house, downstairs and upstairs, garage, kitchen and bathtub. At first you will collect them and put them back in the cool cylinder Jenga container, but at a certain point – depending on the type of day you are having – you will throw them in the garbage.

At least that’s the version of Jenga we play here in my house.

The real version includes very carefully pulling out random rectangles without the tower crashing to the ground.

Being a mom means constantly trying to stack all your to-dos and to-gos – cleaning, organizing, laundry, dentist, doctors, well visit and sick visit appointments; snacks, meals and a million other things – in a very organized, neat and sometimes seemingly precarious stack, like the most delicate of puzzles, so that everyone gets to the right places at the right time on the right day. It takes lots of planning and most days the meticulously laid plans work like a charm.

But that’s not the art of mastering being a mom.

The real art is when your carefully crafted Jenga plans come crashing down – and you don’t crash with it. You stay calm, cool and collected. You don’t get angry or frustrated, just like I tell my kids to act when their tower is destroyed.

I had Thursday planned out perfectly.

Drop the middle division of kids off at 9:30. Two youngest stay with me and we will zip back over, in only 20 minutes, to pick up the oldest division. We will head on over to the doctor, only 10 minutes away, for flu shots. Take them back to their online school classes. I’ll be home by 11 or 11:15, give the toddler an early lunch and then he will go for his three hour nap. I’ll get the baby settled and then ahh…the things I will do. It’s the first short Friday of the year tomorrow and I will do it right – getting in lots of Shabbos cooking on Thursday. I will catch up on emails waiting to be sent. Various other odds and ends that are waiting since Monday and now it’s Thursday. The perfect Jenga creation.

As we are leaving the doctor’s office, I get a phone call. Preschool is calling to say it looks like my 3 year old has pink eye. I’m in the doctor’s office. What better place to be. Except for the fact that he’s not there with me. Preschool has a policy of mom-pick-up-child-immediately if there is a suspicion of pink eye.

I describe it to my doctor who says he can’t diagnose without seeing it. Fair enough.

I feel my carefully stacked Jenga blocks being slowly pulled out…my tower is starting to shake ever so slightly.

I take the kids back to where they were studying and off we go, back to preschool, with a strong sense of déjà vu. I pick up my 3 year old and start heading to the doctor yet again. Seems way to familiar.

The baby seems to be hungry, of course. I know that by the sound of his newbornish baby cry filling the car for the whole 20 minute drive.

My nerves are getting a little frayed…this was not in my plans today!

The doctor looks at my 3 year old – whose eyes look great and have cleared up. Just like that.

He can go back to school. It is not pink eye. The doctor offers me a prescription for eye drops, should pink eye decide to surface over the weekend.

I’m already 2 hours behind schedule..and I’m hungry. I didn’t take food or my water bottle with me.

I want to go home. I can’t bear to think of going the 20 minutes back to preschool for the third time in one morning. I figure it’s more worthwhile to head to Target to fill the prescription for just in case,and then head home.

And anyways, when your day is messed up, Target is always a good solution.

I head to Target, get the baby with his car seat into the shopping cart, toddler in the front seat and three year old walking.

But the baby insists on reminding me he is a newborn and newborns don’t like Target.

So I carry the baby in one arm, pull the cart with the other, that now houses the empty infant seat and the toddler and my three year old.

And did I mention I have no food or drink.

My Jenga tower is slowly crashing to the ground.

The 10 minute wait for the prescription to be filled took 30 minutes. I waited at the Pharmacy, to hungry to do my usual Target stroll through all the different sections. I just wanted to get home.

We finally head to the car.

I pull into the garage 3three and half hours after I had planned, and there’s less than two hours left before having to start my pickups.

My Jenga blocks are everywhere. I don’t even want to check my to do list and my carefully laid plans. And hungry mommies are not happy mommies.

So I haven’t quite mastered my game of Jenga. I’m still working on it.