Category: Life in General

“You’re child is uncooperative and disrespectful.”

I nod, trying to keep myself together.

“Your child is not behaving and not following directions.”

Keep it together, keep it together, I tell myself.

They are not saying that YOU are misbehaving, they are talking about your child.

But still I feel shame creeping through me, enveloping me.

They’re not talking about you!! Stop it!

But if they are talking about my child, aren’t they talking about me?

If my child fails to behave properly, isn’t it because I failed to teach my child?

It certainly feels like that.

NO, no, no shouts the logical side of me, stop it!

This is about your child, not about you. You can’t help your child if all you think about is you!

I nod and apologize, and express my sincerest disappointment in my child (and perhaps in myself?) and lead my child to the waiting room.

I  watch my tear-streaked child, sitting in his chair whimpering.

And I try to put my thoughts together.

When my child succeeds, do I take the credit? Is the success because I’m such a good mother, or does the child alone get the credit, for each child is their own person?

If i take the credit when things work well, then do I get the flack for when they don’t perform how they should?

Or is each child indeed their own little person, responsible for their achievements and for their failures?

Of course I want to pat myself on the back when my child receives a top mark on a test, has an impressive talent or when my baby sleeps through the night..

But do I really get the credit? I’m suddenly not so sure.

Each child is their own person.

Parents are there to guide, lead, direct and teach. But each child has their own little mind, personality and character. And their own little decisions to make.

I did not misbehave. My child did.

And one of my other children is still being seen in back; I’m guessing that means he is cooperating. So maybe it isn’t all my fault.

So then why am I still feeling so ashamed?

As my child loudly yells some angry remarks and cries, I see this other mom in the waiting room grab the hand of her two year old child and leads her out of the room, loudly telling her, “I don’t want you to see how that child is behaving!”

I watch as she marches out of the waiting room, crushing what is left of my motherhood confidence with each footstep, smashing it all to tiny pieces.

I am ashamed. I feel like a failure.

And I look at my dear child; my child’s face has the same feelings stamped across it.

Should I punish my child for misbehaving? Who does like the doctors office? Is my child at fault? Am I at fault?

We sit quietly; I don’t want to say anything I will regret.

My child quiets down and settles on a pout.

I slowly let go of the shame and feelings of inadequacy and I am able to think clearer.

Children learn from their mistakes. They grow up. I must be patient.

Being a mother is truly a humbling experience.

We’re going to a wedding!

We planned for months and every detail was taken care of, down to the last sock.

And we are ready.

I give myself a quick pep talk. This is for the kids; don’t fool yourself and think you are attending a wedding for personal enjoyment.

We arrive relatively on time, and make it to pictures. Everyone is still clean, no diaper changes needed yet and no spills on my new dress (yet).

Baby is getting cranky and I need to feed him. I eye my spot at the table, realizing I haven’t eaten since the baby carrots 6 hours earlier. But I need to put him to sleep first, cute outfit and all.

I dash to the babysitting room, manage to nurse in my non-nursing-friendly dress and dash back to my seat, only to see the waitress walking out with my untouched plate…and dumping it.

I finally sit down.

My two year old is delivered to me from the dance floor…he needs a pamper change…

Off I go, hoping to have better luck with the next course.

In the changing room, I can hear the music start up in the distance and know that the bride is about to arrive…and I’ll miss that too.

Two year old and I make it back for the last minute of dancing and then I’m determined not to miss the next part of the meal.

As the waiters make their way from table to table with the plated food, I make sure they see me and I am served.

I’m only half way through my plate, and my phone rings to tell me the baby is up and crying.

I gobble down the rest of my food and head to the babysitting room once again.

I feed him and settle him, and once more I hear the dancing and know that I’m missing the dancing once again.

I head back to the floor, where my 9 year old tells me about all the great photos I missed.

The toddler needs to go to sleep, and I’m back in the babysitting room,

At least I’m getting exercise.

I’m heading back and my 4 year old is frantic for the bathroom.

I help him out and get back in time for…the speeches.

 

I watch the dessert buffet from afar, wondering if I’ll make it there or not.

With the two little ones sleeping, the rest is a blur and all too soon the wedding is over.

We pack everyone up and get ready to head home.

My kids agree unanimously that it was the funnest wedding ever.

I nod in agreement.

After all, fun is all relative.

It was the perfect arrangement. I needed to buy 2 new car seats, and the kids wanted to pool their Chanukah gelt to buy the coolest sets of Lego. We all wanted to go to Target. What a great plan!

So we hopped into the car, me and my second in command – my daughter – and my 5 little boys. My oldest was out with my husband.

I entered Target and noticed mistake number one. Don’t ever go to Target in mid December, unless you absolutely have to. Every register, every aisle, and every inch of store was filled to max capacity.

But not wanting to disappoint the kids, I made a quick decision that it wasn’t a big deal and off we went. We divided into two teams; half went to the Lego aisle, the other half (the two that fit in the cart) joined me and my daughter in the car seat search.

After some quick deliberating, I hoisted box #1 into the cart…but that took away the two year olds spot. Out he went and in went box #2…but the top seat needed to be folded, so out went the one year old. With the baby in one arm and my daughter firmly holding my 2 year old’s hand, I managed to navigate the shopping cart, which I couldn’t see over the top of, customer service where they so kindly agreed to watch it for me while I finished shopping.

We got a new cart, got the kiddies settled, and headed to the Lego aisle.

Decisions, decisions. These were big life decisions.

As we negotiated and discussed which Lego set was truly the best one and appropriate for our home, this little sweet big eyed girl with glasses passed with her very obviously stressed mom.

“Mom, look how many kids they have!!” I heard her whisper loudly, as only kids know how. The look of complete mortification on her mother’s face was pretty comical, as she continued to look straight ahead as if she didn’t notice us.

I wanted to ease her tension, but with 6 little people talking to me all at once and the mom refusing to make eye contact I couldn’t really say anything to her.

What did I want to tell her? I was just going to ease her fears and tell her don’t worry, it’s not contagious. And this was on purpose.

As we continued to narrow down the decisions, little-girl-with-big-eyes apparently snuck away from her mom and came back to peek again, remarking loudly, “Wow, there’s so many!”

Her poor mortified mom. It’s ok, mortified mom. This is why we love kids. Because they’re not scared to say what they’re thinking!

It was time to head to the register, and I admit I had no plan.

No plan how I was going to push a cart that I couldn’t see over and a cart that had two little guys in it. And my helpers were not interested in helping, and the truth is, they weren’t really fit for the job.

They couldn’t see over the cart either, and I figured I’d knock down less things than they would, so I better steer that one.

And a cart with two little guys…pushing 60+ pounds is a bit much for them.

But we got this far, I wasn’t going to give up.

And after all, one of the car seats were on sale, I needed to buy it today!

We made it to the register, swiping the sides of only three racks.

We checked out and I thankfully had the great idea to ask if someone could help me out to the car. What do you know, it was a service they offered!

We got to the car, which the kids were very excited to point out to this nice Target employee – “Yes, that’s our van! The one with the dent on the side that Mommy….”

I tried to talk over their description of every scratch and mark on the van, chatting with my fellow cart-pusher as if I was taking a stroll in the park.

We reached our destination and I opened the trunk…forgetting that it was not empty.

I tried not to show what I was thinking, which was How in the world is this going to fit, what was I thinking?

Holding my pride in check, we pushed and pulled and squeezed and maneuvered…and got the trunk door closed. I couldn’t see out the back window and the front passenger was a car seat box, but it was doable.

We did it! Although it wasn’t simple, our mission was accomplished.

And when you’re doing things with your kids, now that’s something to be proud of.

I knew becoming a mom would mean giving up lots of little luxuries about life as I knew it.

I knew having many kids would mean giving up even more.

A good night’s sleep, reading a complete book, the biggest piece of cake, a clean piece of paper.

All these things I knew and was prepared for.

Clean floors, clean car, counter tops that aren’t sticky; it’s all just part of the deal and boy is it worth it.

But I’ve recently added a new item to the  list of things to give up when having kids; something that I’m not so sure I had realized.

Having kids means giving up the luxury of completing a train of thought. To think something through from beginning to end, without interruption.

It’s the strangest thing. I just noticed that I have not posted a blog post in over two months. But here’s the thing; I’ve written at least 20 posts since then!

And that’s when it clicked.

I started to write 20 something posts…about trips to Walmart, 10 hour road trips, mismatched socks and kids leaving their shoes at home….and they are all still in the drafts folder of my brain; no, they never even made it to the keyboard. Because having kids does that to you.

It happens like this. I have a great idea, I feel the energy flowing, I’m ready to take it on….and then someone is calling from the bathroom to be wiped or something of the like and all is pushed into the drafts folder in the recesses of my brain.

I come back to reality a couple hours later and have time to pick up the thought. But by then, I can’t remember what it was to begin with.

Ahh, the joys of motherhood!

The things we start but don’t get to finish.

Like the marker on the banister on the steps heading upstairs.

How many times have I grabbed a Clorox wipe and marched in that direction, determined to finally complete the task of washing it all off, only to be called off by something much more important and urgent before I even reached my destination. Someone fell. Someone broke someone’s something. Issues that were far more pressing and in need of my attention. Things that deserve my time more than the banister does!

And that’s where all my blog posts are. In that place in my mind of unfinished thoughts and projects and tasks, that got pushed off the list because there are little people who need me.

The 76 emails in my drafts folder on my phone…how many times I started to type, and a spill or a cry called me away.

How many Facebook posts I started and never got to hit the POST button.

Sure, sometimes it’s frustrating, sometimes it’s annoying and sometimes it’s maddening!

But I will not fight it; I will embrace this discovery of incomplete train of thoughts with patience and humor.

It’s certainly worth the trade in.

BUT I am determined to figure out how to sneak a complete thought every now and then – because I do plan to keep posting. I’m not giving this one up.

And, as soon as I figure out the secret how to get it done; don’t worry, I will most certainly share it with you.

It’s the favorite time of year for little boys. Water, fish, sand and if you’re lucky, mud too. It just doesn’t get better!

It’s Tashlich.

And feeling so experienced in the boys, mud, water and sand area, I reminded my kids to wear their Crocs to Tashlich. Most of them followed directions and I let it be. How dirty can they get anyway, maybe I was just being paranoid…

Arriving at Tashlich only 4 minutes after my boys, I’m greeted by muddy feet and wet pants.

And that’s when I see my oldest. In the mud.

“I lost my shoe, I need to find it!” he hollers.

We are at the pond. The pond that has been shrinking all year due to the lack of rain. And what is left in place of where lots of the pond used to be is thick, heavy mud. The type that when you walk across it, your shoes gets stuck. Which is apparently what happened.

I see the crowd gathering at the gazebo, just a few hundred feet away. I see my son, caked in mud till his elbows and up till his knees in his (new) dress pants.

I tell him to get out of the mud.

I tell him his shoes were lost and it’s too late to save them.

I tell him it is more important to get out NOW than to find his shoes.

He waves back and reassures me that he would find his shoes.

I tell him to get out of the mud.

He tells me he will find his shoes.

I breathe deeply and count to ten slowly.

I need to think quickly.

And then I tell myself what I tell my kids when they are in crisis mode:

You have a few options.

I could scream at him to get out.

I could threaten him.

I could take away all computer time for the next 18 years.

I could take away his camera indefinitely.

But as I slowly get to ten, I know none of those would work. He is not coming out.

He is going to find his shoes. With all the kids watching him, that was more important to him than 18 years of computer time.

I needed an alternative plan.

Think about him, not about yourself!

The crowd is nearing the pond, ready to recite the tashlich prayer.

I look at the approaching people.

I look at my son, covered in mud.

And there I stood, with just a minute to leave with a grace.

Breathe, count to 10 again.

“Alright, I hope you find your shoes. You sure are determined.”

I turned to face the crowd, watching as they register what they were seeing.

Yes, the rabbi’s son, in his dress clothes, is knee deep in mud.

My son. My oldest son.

The looks of amusement, horror, disgust and entertainment are pretty apparent.

He will have to figure out how to save his pride, but I had to figure out how to save mine.

Because after all, if anyone is judging my child, why then, they are ultimately judging me.

And so I say the only thing I can think of, the thought that I would be thinking if it was someone else’s child…

“Whose kid is that?! Where are the parents?? Which irresponsible mom lets their 10 year old get knee deep in thick, gooky mud in their dress clothes!?”

The ice was broken; now they are all on my team! We laugh together.

And my son, holding his pride, emerges from the mud, waving his mud soaked non-recognizable shoe with a look of triumph.

I bite my tongue hard to hold back any reprimanding because I realize it’s not necessary. Mud has it’s own natural consequence.

Mustering up whatever dignity he can find, he tells me in his most grown up way that he is going to go home and hose himself down in the backyard so he doesn’t bring any mud into the house. I enthusiastically agree it’s a good idea.

I’m squirmy at the sight. I’m not a mud person. And deep inside, I’m still mortified. But that’s not my son’s problem. I will not take that out on him.

I’m also just a teensy bit proud of his determination. And his courage to face the crowd. I remind myself that these traits will do him well as an adult…

He strides off, with all the little boys watching him in awe and with the greatest respect while the moms are cringing.

And I sigh in relief. 

True, I didn’t win. He got his way.

But sometimes winning is figuring out how to lose gracefully.