We don’t get to choose what happens to us, but we do get to choose what we do about it.
It’s something I’ve always known but never thought deeply about it. That’s how life tends to be; we don’t ponder about something until it’s relevant. But sometimes, it’s worth thinking about ideas and working on making them relevant.
I find myself going back to where I was last year at this time; regaining my footing as I inched my way back into real life, albeit dragging along my wound vac that I so abhorred.
At least that’s how I interpreted the text message I received.
“Your boys are being extremely disrespectful; we need to talk about this.”
Oh.
Another adult was telling me that my boys were disrespectful. I got an F. I failed dismally.
My energetic and sometimes rowdy 8, 10 and 12 year old were being supervised and tested by their teacher who oversees our homeschool program and apparently it wasn’t going well.
They were outdoors in 90 degree weather, at 3pm, doing testing on laptops and as 3 brothers they feed off each other when it comes to all things; good behavior or otherwise.
And here it seemed to be the otherwise.
Is she blaming me?
So what does a mom do when another mom tells her that her kids are being extremely disrespectful and not cooperating?
Like is she really trying to say, you bad mother, you taught your kids to be rude to adults!
Does anyone think that mothers actually want their kids to act that way?
Do I apologize? Apologize for what?
One thing was certain, this adult was extremely frustrated, and as the mom, well I guess it was my fault.
Hence the F.
But here’s what I’ve discovered.
Parenting is not a gumball machine.
Gumball machines are straightforward; put in a coin, get a gumball. Every time. You put in what’s expected and you get what you expect.
I’d say parenting is more like the claw machine.
Y’know, the machine at every arcade place that taunts you and you convince yourself that you are going to beat it. And as it eats up coin after coin, you carefully and steadily maneuver that claw arm, never losing track of it, hyper focused on its every move and slowly lower it, so carefully and delicately aimed at just the item you want. You’re sweating from the intense labor and watch it slowly reaching your desired prize; it slowly grasps a corner, lifts it a fraction of an inch as you watch not breathing, and then drops it, delivering you nothing.
That’s parenting.
You sweat, you toil, you make intentional decisions and mindful choices; you give all you have, you give all that you know how to give … and most likely what you get in return is not what you envisioned.
But different than the claw machine, where you walk away with nothing; in parenting you don’t walk away empty handed.
You always get something beautiful and priceless, if you stop trying to limit the options.
So my kids were disrespectful. So much so that the adult came complaining, which in my perception was blaming, and vented her frustration to me.
So do I say I’m sorry I’ve raised such rude children?
Do I say I’m sorry I told my kids to be disrespectful?
I chose something more neutral; I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I will speak to them about it.
Am I proud of them?
At that moment, I sure wasn’t.
Should I punish them? Consequences? Retribution? How dare my children behave like that to another adult!
So do I get an F? Is it that easy to fail?
Parenting isn’t a gumball machine but really it’s a lot better than a claw machine.
It’s the ultimate test of self; of patience to allow our children to grow and mature at their pace, through their stages and phases and ups and downs. Of being a guiding light and good example of what’s right and wrong. Of catching them when they fall but not shunning them when they fail. Of allowing each child to grow into their best self, not your version of best. Of loving each child even when another adult is annoyed.
So my fellow Annoyed Adult, I’m annoyed too. And to be honest, I’m sure it’ll happen again. And I’ll watch them grow into their own little people. But my kids are not gumballs and my kids are not my report card. There’s no such thing as an F in parenting.
Parenting is not about helping your kids be the best version of your dreams. It’s about helping them become the best version of themselves. And the path is a bumpy one.
The only F is if you expect it to work like a gumball machine.
“Wow, I’m the best mother ever! I’ve really got it all figured out!”
Said no mother, ever.
That’s just how it works; part of the gift of motherhood is the gift of doubt, guilt and second guessing.
And that’s where good advice comes in. The remedy for all this is good advice.
But not all advice is good, even if it has good intentions.
My personal two least favorite and least productive pieces of advice are these goodies;
“The days are long, but the years are short; before you blink they’ll be grown up, hold onto these times!”
“Little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems!”
I don’t know if they’re meant as cliches or advice, but I do know what they actually are; when delivered, it’s just another form of the big bad G – GUILT – albeit with fancy wrapping paper.
When you read that sentence, did it make your heart start palpitating and you started breaking out in a cold sweat?
Or did you feel a thrill of excitement and burst of adrenaline for this incredible, all encompassing Jewish holiday that wraps you up in a world of its own; where regular life ceases to exist and family and meals become front and center of your life.
Yeah, that really is possible – or you can at least get closer to the latter reaction.
Pesach is a lot. It really is. There’s so much to do and so much to buy and so much to prepare.
Now, as I’m preparing to make Pesach in my own home for the 14th year, I’d like to share my top Six Sanity Tips for Pesach, in the hope that they offer some help in some way to some Pesach-makers.
#1- It starts at the roots, it’s the foundation. It’s the most important and fundamental rule that will make all the difference in everything I do: I must love pesach.
Yes, love it.
If the feeling isn’t natural, I repeat “I love Pesach” over and over again until it becomes a part of me. I repeat it again and again. And then again. Starting the day after Purim, I think it while I work, while I walk, while I drive and just about any other time of day or night.
And it really happens. Try it and see for yourself; you will convince yourself. You will love Pesach.
Especially considering the fact that it comes back every year, rain or shine, it’s integral to have a healthy relationship with it.
You must love it.
And to make sure you really love it, buy something new for yourself every year or do something special for yourself; it doesn’t have to be expensive, it just has to be something that gives you a positive association with the workload. (Think a new book, chocolate stash, manicure, purse, shoes, costume jewelry or whatever makes you happy and fits your budget.)
#2: As much as it’s important for me to love Pesach, my kids need to love it too; and really, that’s all dependent on what they hear me saying – which goes back to #1. If I become a ranting and raving chometz guard, we will all hate Pesach together.
Do things that give the kids positive associations with the preparing; be creative with suppers and meals for the days before Pesach – as in, forget the rules and do what works. Can you imagine, nothing says best mother better than allowing cereal and milk for supper!! For three days straight! Double points if it’s Shabbos cereal! It’s just a few nights; everyone will be ok. Their emotional and mental health is top priority over here. Buy some new games or books that are special just for Pesach.
Whatever it is that works, it has to be in line with making the kids love Pesach and not leaving them wishing it went away and so they can get their normal mother back.
#3 I believe that my cleaning help is just as certified and qualified to do the Pesach cleaning as I am.
If you don’t have regular help, hire a company, group, someone, anyone. Your sanity costs a lot more money than the cleaning help; and it is alot harder to fix or replace your sanity if you lose or damage any of it. .
Remember that the mitzvah is to get rid of edible chometz you can see. Food doesn’t fly and crumbs don’t jump. Just clean. And save spring cleaning for a calm day in July.
#4 Pesach is not the time for me to patchke and fuss with new recipes; I save that for during the year when there’s actual ingredients to use, instead of attempting to use (lousy) makeshift replacements and substitutes. The first year I made Pesach I made 5 different types of sweet potato/potato combos. Rolled, layered, scooped – you name it. They all had fancy names and they all tasted the same. All the work for nothing.
Unless fussing with elegant and delicate foods is something that gives you joy and it’s really your thing, just make the food you like and the food your family will eat. No one needs to know what your menu is.
#5 Look for shortcuts. My best shortcut is that I don’t empty a single cabinet or drawer or pantry in my kitchen. I have two self-standing plastic storage cabinets from Costco that are in the garage all year long storing all the pesach stuff and then the cabinets get moved into the house and it continues to house all the pesach stuff. My chometz cabinets get spring cleaned on random days in the year when it’s not Yom Tov season and it’s not spring. True, it’s additional clutter to have two cabinets brought into the kitchen; but pick your poison. Go for the one that will give you less work.
#6 Lists. Paper, Google docs, excel or whatever works. But make those lists and plan ahead.
You can shop around for people’s ideas – but most importantly; make them your own.
There are so many different ways to do it; cooking everything before Pesach, kashering after Purim, kashering the day before or kashering on Erev Yom tov. There’s no wrong way. Find the right way that’s right for YOU. Do things because they work for you, not because they work for your friend or sister or mother or grandmother.
Make Pesach yours. Make it your own.
And I can gaurantee you, you will love Pesach.
You may come to the Seder tired, but there’s a difference between tired and resembling something that the cat dragged in or tired but full of pride and joy and a sense of accomplishment; that you made it without destroying anyone or anything in the process.
And then you can actually be present at the Seder; you will enjoy the time with your family and your food, and actually feel the depth of this holiday celebrating our freedom. You deserve it.
Chances are everyone reading this has either experienced it or knows someone who did; the problem is, most people don’t know that it actually has a name.
It’s a common breastfeeding related condition that gets little attention and is not well known – and must be publicized. Because if you’ve experienced this, putting a name to the description will make you feel normal again.
I am grateful I’ve been able to nurse all my babies. When my eighth was born 4 years ago, I was relieved that once again nursing was no problem; except for one minor detail change.
Every time I’d start nursing, I’d suddenly be hit by the most overwhelming feeling of sadness. As if something terrible had just happened.
At first I was so confused.
What did I just see? What did I just hear that I feel this way?
And then was the strangest part. After no more than 30 seconds at most, the feeling was gone and I felt great again. Gone without a trace. To the extent that at first I thought I was imagining it.
But then I noticed the pattern. All was well, I was going about my day in a good mood. I’d sit down to nurse and suddenly be hit by this emotional wave. I’d count to 20 or 30 at most and it would be gone, leaving not a trace behind. It was fascinating and bizarre all at the same time. I started asking around, my sisters and my network of friends. No one could understand what I was describing.
I started doubting myself that this was actually true. Maybe I was making it up! But then I’d nurse again and experience it all over again.
My baby got older and slowly these incidents stopped and I forgot about it.
Until my 9th was born, 2 and a half years ago. I recognized it as soon as it happened. Everything was fine, I was feeling good and my baby nursed well. But I’d sit down to nurse and bam, there came that emotional overload. I’d focus on my counting, knowing it would dissipate before I got to 30, and it was gone.
But what was it?!? I googled any terms I could think of. Sadness while nursing. Overwhelming feeling while breastfeeding. No results.
I asked my doctor about it at my 6 week follow-up. This time I knew I wasn’t hallucinating. I knew I felt it. My OB stared at me blankly. She said some random platitudes like “Make sure you’re drinking and getting enough help in the house.” But I KNEW that wasn’t it. It was so hard to explain but I knew it was real!
I started polling my sisters and friends again and still, nothing doing. No one understood what I was referring too. Because really, it sounded crazy. An overwhelming emotional overload for 20 seconds?! Something that had no connection to the activity I was doing right before nor to where I was? It sounded crazy.
I was able to continue nursing with no problem, and the episodes faded and I forgot about it again.
And then, a few months later, I was reading an article in a magazine and I nearly yelped out loud.
This was it!! They were describing me!! This this this!! It was real! I wasn’t making it up! It even had a name!
The elation, the sheer joy and excitement at being validated!
True, this condition hadn’t interrupted my life thank G-d. But I knew something was going on to trigger it and I so badly wanted to know what it was. And here was my answer, in print.
D-MER. It had a name. It was real. Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex.
It was as strange and bizarre as I described it, but there was a reason for it. I went to dmer.org and read it top to bottom and bottom to top. There wasn’t a whole lot of information, but the name and description was enough.
I couldn’t get enough of it. It was a real condition.
There’s a broad range from extremely mild (in my case, lasting 20 seconds) to the extreme of debilitating anxiety that lasts long after the nursing, causing women to stop nursing because it is too difficult.
And I shared the info with every person I could think of. I don’t know why it does not get much publicity and why it’s hardly known. Any woman can experience it, it has nothing to do with any other part of your life.
It has nothing to do with one’s emotional or psychological well-being. Read that again. It has nothing to do with one’s emotional or psychological well-being. It is solely related to the milk release while breastfeeding. It is fascinating.
Fast forward to the birth of my 10th in May, just a few months ago. I start nursing and bam, there it goes. But I know what it is, it has a name! I am not crazy. This is real. I count through it and in 20 seconds it’s gone.
I go back to D-MER.org and see that there is even more information available on it than the last time I checked.
It has a name. I know the name. And I want to make sure that every single woman out there knows the name D-MER. D-MER.
It’s real and it’s a broad spectrum. For some it affects their decision to nurse or not. And for some, like me, it’s the knowledge alone that it has a name that helps me get through it and be able to nurse happily and successfully.
Even if you’ve never experienced this, you can help spread the word. My fellow moms, listen carefully the next time one of your newly postpartum friends start babbling about how she feels. You may be the one to give her the name to the experience, together with the validation that what she’s experiencing is real. Validation. The very best baby gift ever.
Little Yellow Notepad 