And Many Miles to Go Before I Sleep

My mother tells me it’s time for a new blog post. She’s bored of visiting my blog, disappointed when she sees nothing new. I told her to set up a Google reader account to save her the agmas nefesh. Forget about setting it up being too difficult for her, she didn’t really understand its function when I tried explaining it. But never mind that.

I agree with my mother, it is time for a new blog post. And I have a lot to say – I’m just too busy doing nothing to say it. Nothing is relative of course. I spend most of my day tending to my adorable, but perpetually cranky baby. Or I’m in bed sleeping. Some old adages are right and smart – Sleep when the baby sleeps.
So the adage works with your first kid, but when you have a kid running around it’s not so easy to say,

“Ooh yay, the baby shtunker is finally sleeping – I’ll pop in for a nap – if that’s ok with you E – don’t break my china teacups like you almost did yesterday, k?”

Well, I suppose it’s easy to say, not to do.

So…I’m a little homebound and going out of my mind. I went to the park in my complex a few days this week. The other women looked at me in wonderment – what was I doing outside?!! And I was thinking, Oh G-d I can’t believe it took me this long to get outside. Seriously, I don’t think I was outdoors for a week after I had the baby. And besides cranky babies magically shut up outside – nature’s best.

It’s only three weeks, and it feels like months (well, when your night turn into days, and days nights and there’s a point where you can’t differentiate between the two because you’re too busy pacing your hallways, arms jiggling, trying to calm a baby, time seems to pass Reeeeeeeally slowly.) I don’t even remember what it feels like to be pregnant – yes, I did just write that. I don’t remember, there’s too much overriding it.

I taught Macbeth this year; I didn’t think I could ever relate to him, but I do now: Act II Scene II

“Macbeth: Methought I heard a voice cry ‘Sleep no more!”

So bear with me, while I bear with my baby.

Mazal Tov!

It’s a boy!

7lb, 6oz

19 inches

Born 11:52 p.m. June 24th 2012

He is perfect (takes after his Mommy)

The Dougie

I felt so powerless yesterday. And bewildered. And Unsure. With a good ole dose of horror.

My husband and I were watching our son play in our complex’s playground. He wasn’t feeling all that well, and ended up just sitting next to me, on a bench, beneath the shade.

He pointed out the tree, and the birdies, and the squirrel. He was happy, and so was I.

On the other side of the playground I could see a procession coming toward our area. There were about 12 boys ranging in age from about 4-8 and a girl, in a gorilla costume. Forget the fact that it’s Shabbos and she’s dressing up in Purim costumes, and forget that this is a lot of boys and one girl, but focus on my son. He saw the girl, or rather the gorilla and started whimpering

“Ah doogie, Ah doogie!” he pointed and started to cry. He pulled himself closer to me, and I waved my hands to the kids, indicating to stay away. They noted, smiled, and came closer.

I’ve never seen my son scared. He’s as macho as they come. Trips, falls, scrapes, he just brushes them off- literally. He brushes off the dirt, the blood the mess, and continues on. Sometimes he’ll come to me and say,

“Dooty” when his broad strokes don’t get rid of the dirt.

And now my son was cowering, crying,

“Doogie, bye bye, Doogie bye bye”

The kids came even closer.

“Please stay away.” I beseeched. “Don’t you see you’re scaring him, and making him upset. That’s not nice is it?” I reasoned. The gorilla hesitated, but the boys egged her on, and she came even closer.

My kid shrieked more and my husband growled,“Go away now! What do you think you’re doing!” The kids laughed, but dispersed.

My kid was now crying freely, clutching me for dear life, and I wiped away a tear, my own tear.

Later at home, while eating supper, my kid kept going on,

“Doogie go bye bye. Doogie go ‘way!”

And I reassured him that the doggie wasn’t coming back. A few moments respite, and he started on the “Doogie” refrain. This went on for a while.

And that wasn’t all that happened in the park yesterday. My kid was sitting a low ledge on the playground, little feet dangling slightly. A boy of about 5 approached him, stuck his face into his, and then without warning or provocation slapped my kid 5 times across the face. I jumped to my feet (as much as overdue woman can jump) and aggressively marched towards my son (about 20 feet away). The boy saw me approaching and backed off.

“We don’t hit people,” I scolded. “Especially not little kids, that didn’t do anything to you.” He just shrugged his shoulders and walked away. My kid wasn’t really crying, just whimpering a little; he was mostly bewildered.

“Da boiy… da boiy” he repeated. He couldn’t seem to make sense about what just happened to him.

“Da boiy’s” mother had been sitting on the park bench next to me, engrossed in a fascinating conversation about getting children into school. She missed everything. I didn’t fill her in. It didn’t seem worth it, but her lack of awareness seemed to explain the previous “Doogie” incident with my son.

Where are the parents watching their children? Most of them are not present physically. And if they’re there physically, that doesn’t necessarily include mentally.

And with the Gorilla incident, I really don’t get these kids. First preying on a little kid, for G-ds sake he’s not even 2 yet! And then in front of his parents? We were right there! That didn’t stop them for a moment, maybe even gave them more impetus!

And my husband and I felt so powerless. What were we supposed to do? My logical reasoning of “it’s not nice” fell on deaf ears, so did my husband’s. I wanted to do them physical harm, yell at them, but knew it wouldn’t do anything. I’d have love to have chat with their mothers, but they weren’t present, and I’m not totally sure whose children they were.

What should we have done, and how can I protect my child?

He’s such a happy kid, but I’m afraid a few more slaps and “Doogie” incidents and he may turn into them, as a form of self-protection and preservation.

What am I, his mother supposed to do?(Besides for write this post, to vent) What should I have done then?

Begging For Validation

 

I never answer my door – unless I know you’re coming. Someone can bang away all they’d like, if I wasn’t informed of your arrival, I’ll become selectively deaf to your hammering. If you really want me to open the door, just call my house, tell me your standing there waiting for me, and I’ll be ever so gracious.

Seems really rude, I know. But I have my reasons (whether you agree with them or not)
1) The only people knocking on my door who I’m not expecting are collectors
2) I don’t keep any cash in the house
3) I think it’s an easier let down to think no one is home, than to be told they have nothing for you

It’s not a big deal, really. Most collectors will knock once or twice and leave if there’s no response. The problem arises when the collectors are not bona-fide meshulachim, with shtars from the Vaad, but when they come in a more miniature and menacing form – children.

Kids are the worst. They knock – persistently. They don’t wait, pause, give you moment to walk across your kitchen to receive them; it’s just knock – knockknockknock – knockknock –knockknockknockknock. And they don’t leave if you don’t answer the door. They peer into windowshades and start knocking all over again. Also, they’re generally neighborhood children, so they know my car, and whether they saw me leave or enter my home recently. You’d think they’d pick up after 3 years that I don’t answer the door. But they are a dogged bunch.

You know what, even if I did keep cash in my house to pass out when benevolence strikes me, I wouldn’t give to children. And further, I don’t intend to allow my children to collect. It may be standard procedure in Lakewood, I just think it’s bad chinuch.

The position of a meshulach, to have to go door to door to procure necessary funds is degrading. It’s embarrassing, and is only undertaken in the most dire of circumstances. And so it should be. To just ask of another person, another person in which you have no regard for each other, is the epitome of taking – and if the most Godly behavior is giving, then taking in such a manner is its contrast, and thereby ungodly.

My question is, why are school, organizations and parents encouraging children to engage in such behavior. Yes, I suppose in many cases the causes are worthy, but do you want to teach your children to just ask a random stranger for money, to take away the human mortification of the deed, and further embed it into their sociological structure of acceptable behavior? There are other ways to encourage a child to fundraise for a worthy cause without them soliciting door to door.

And then there’s this story.

I was on the phone with my sister while it happened so I can attest to its veracity. Her 6 year old daughter came over to her and requested 11 dollars.

“Why do you need 11 dollars?” my sister asked suspiciously. “Is this for a school trip of project?”

“No,” her daughter replied simply, “It’s for Rochel.”

“Why do you have to give 11 dollars to Rochel?”

“She’s collecting for Organization Blank Blank”

My sister got a litter confused here,

“Why does she need 11 dollars specifically?” my sister asked, voice rising, getting slightly indignant, “I can give her whatever amount I see fit.”

“Well, she want the Gameboy prize, and she needs 11 dollars.” My niece answered plainly.

My sisters eyes popped (I’m assuming they popped, I didn’t see her, but I know her expressions)
“You can give her 25 cents –from your own money!”

And my niece, totally not following what happened, stated simply,

“But she needs 11 dollars.”

My sister then put her hand on her hip and wagged her index finger at her daughter (once again, just speculating here), and said sternly,

“I’m not giving tzedakah, so Rochel can get a prize. If she wants a Gameboy, let her parents buy for her, I’m not sponsoring it, especially not with my tzedakah money.”

I’m not sure if my niece understood the message, but she definitely grasped her mother’s tone of voice and dutifully walked away.

“Did you hear that?” My sister asked me, returning to our conversation. “The chutzpah!”

And I agree.

 

So, would you let your child go door to door collecting?

Of Apples and Oranges

Her tongue darted around the crevices of her mouth trying to dislodge the almonds that got wedged between gaped teeth. A finger finished off the last remnants; she looked at the morsel, and popped it back into her mouth. I thought she was totally gross for doing that, but then I caught myself doing the same thing last night – just with potato chips.

Please tell me potato chips are worthier for such treatment than almonds. Because I can’t be like her, can’t have the same mannerisms and rationale. It’s a good thing it wasn’t apples either of us were eating, because then even I’d feel the irony of “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”.

My Kid?….Never

The longer I am a mother I find myself becoming less judgmental against my will.

The first time I ever really paid attention to kids was when I was young and pregnant. I made a lot of keen observation and said brilliant things like,

“Runny noses on kids are disgusting – my kid will never be seen with one”

“If you give your kid junk, of course they’ll never want real food. No garbage food in my house.”

“Palm trees on little boys, or little girls, look retarded, not cute. My kid will never have one, proper pinning will do.”

“Leave your kid at home if he’s going to have a tantrum when you’re shopping. And if you have to bring him along, set up boundaries before so he’s not shrieking and scaring all the women to resume birth control. Besides, only spoiled kids have tantrums.”
Suffice it to say, I don’t judge mothers in the above predicaments anymore.

• I’d prefer a happy child with a runny nose than one wiped raw, and crying.
• I beg my child every morning to please drink chocolate milk – he needs the calcium and calories!
• As for palm trees, they’re still ugly as sin, but now my kid can see. And bobby pins, or sort of clip of elastic holder short of the tiny rubber ones, are untimely ripped from my kid’s hair – courtesy of my kid of course.

And the last – well I’ve only learned the opposing side of this one two days ago.

I brought my son to Wal-Mart to pick up a few odds and ends, and his Afikomin presents. He’s only 20 months, and he wanted everything. When we tried gently lead him away he started shrieking, in his high pitched voice.

“I WANNIE! I WANNIE!! I WANNIE!!!”

And he wailed, and cried, his voice went raw; I thought he was being tortured. This was my son. I never knew he was capable of this. Pathetically, I stood there, not making any eye contact, keeping my voice ultra-smooth. But seriously, he had lost it, thrashing his arms, gnashing his teeth, all the clichés.

I tried picking him up, when of course he picked his hands up and made his shoulders loose, so a proper grip was difficult. I tried again, wrapping my arms around his waist, his mantra then changed to,

I NO WANNIE, I NO WANNIE, I NO WANNIE!!!”

After about 5 minutes I was able to successfully distract him, but now I was mess.

My kid? A freakin tantrum? In Wal-Mart?

For those mothers out there, you know – It happens.

For those of you still saying “My kid will never” statements – enjoy your naiveté.

 

Do Nothing For Perfect Children

Calling someone lazy today is akin telling them that they’re worthless, useless, parasitic and would possibly be more productive serving as fertilizer compost (dead). In the days of rising unemployment, laziness, is the worst possible trait a person could possess. It’s screams SELFISH and IRRESPONSIBLE. Unfortunately, I’ve been bestowed this title a few times in my short years (I like a good book over a clean room, are you seriously going to fault me for that?!). Yet, every trait has its balance I reassure myself, it’s measurement – or  middah so to speak. So what good can possibly come from my do-nothing-frog tendencies?

My child’s development for one. I firmly believe that the reason my child is so amiable and advanced is because he has a lazy tuchas for a mother.

Here’s just a brief glimpse at what laziness can accomplish.

1. He sleeps though the night, mostly. And if he wakes up, I ignore him. At first it was because I was too lazy (and tired) and hoped he would just fall back asleep. Now, I know he will, and my doctor told me, the less intervention on my part with sleep, the better. Score one for me. Most first time moms would be running into their child’s room at the first peep to coddle them – not me.

1. My sister in law told me that with her first child she would rock him to sleep in her arms. And if she saw he was falling asleep without her, she would dive in for the rescue, scoop him up, and made sure he fell asleep in her reassuring arms. I felt like an inadequate unloving mother when she relayed this to me, comparative of course with what I did. When my kid was happy, I put him down, if he was sleepy, I put him down, it he was calm, I put him down. But look now, my child is independent; hers is clingy.

1. Chairs, steps, couches, people, you name it, my kid has scaled it. Height doesn’t matter (not his [which is short] nor the object in question) he can and will climb it. When my child tries to do something physically, and I’m sitting, lying, or otherwise occupied, I will not help him. He can whine, fall, and try again, all I’ll do is say encouraging things (“C’mon E, you can do it put a little power to it!”), maybe give suggestions (“Just turn your ankle, it’s stuck, no turn it, don’t grab at it, what’s that gonna help?!”). He usually succeeds, because I’m too lazy to do it for him.

1. Small tasks, like putting something in the garbage, finding shoes, getting diapers, giving something to my husband, are all made easier with my little errand boy. And he’s been at it for months, when Baby Center tells me this should have been a recent development. I’m just too lazy to go and do it myself; it’s hard to find itty-bitty baby-shoes hidden between Mega Bloks and Matchbox!

1. My kids been writing/scribbling for as long as I can remember. I know I shouldn’t give him a pen, but it’s not worth the energy of me prying it from him when he finds one, or dealing with his whining when he wants one – so I just give him blank paper and let him have a go at it. Same goes for drinking from a cup. (Yes, there were a few big spills in the beginning, but they were easier to clean, than me insisting on a sippy cup)

These skills started with me being lazy and then realizing later, “Oh, wow, I did something right.” Cool, no?

For someone who many people doubted possessed any maternal instinct, I make up for it, with my natural laziness.

The Value of Words

My kid tries to copy words that I say.

He can’t however say a word that ends in a consonant; he drops it.

So Bad, becomes “Ba” as well as Bat, Best, and Bent.

Vowels he’s ok with, so when I realized this, I quickly tried to think of a word that ended with a vowel sound.

“E –say money.”

“munee!”

There’s something wrong with me.

I Will “Love You Forever”

Cover of Love You Forever

Back when I was young and impressionable, I fell in love – with a book, Robert Munsch’s “Love You Forever”. I didn’t know back then that it was award-winning and famous, it was my book, and I felt special about it. I took it out from the library very often, and hid it; it was for me, alone.

Introduced to it, not as a little child, but more of an angsty tween, I think it helped abate a little of my anger and frustration. I understood from the book that my mother did love me, despite whatever went down during the day. And at night, while I lay sleeping I could envision my mother singing to me,

“I’ll love you forever.

I’ll like you for always,

As long as I’m living

My baby you’ll be”

I bought myself the book when I found out I was pregnant with my son. I had visions of reading it to him, and possibly singing my own song to him. Of course, if you know anything about children, that dream not materializing is not a shocker, but I relate to the book more and more each day.

“Bun, no cookies”

Cookie!

“Uch, put that in the garbage!”

Garbi!

“Stop pulling my shaitel”

Ha ha ha!

“I just cleaned that up”

Hee Hee Hee

“Please eat something!”

Cookie!

I look forward to naptimes, and bedtime. I look forward to breathing, doing something other than being his mommy, and a clean house.

Something happens though, every time, just moments after putting him down.

I miss him.

I love him.

And I just want to sit there and watch him sleep – forget about whatever I need to do in these few moments spaced too far and wide.

No matter what he does, no matter how much I kvetch, in my heart I’ll always be singing,

“I’ll love you forever.

I’ll like you for always,

As long as I’m living

My baby you’ll be”

Mein Leben

I will no longer judge those women. Those women by the dairy section piling cartons of Lebens, cheese snacks, and puddings of the sort. I used to (as of yesterday) wonder if they knew what garbage they were feeding their child. And if they didn’t, why not. And if they did, why are they still doing it.

Now I’m not a health nut. I will not send my kid to school with just carrots and rice cakes. However, they will not be bringing two snacks for every recess. I’m not against Lebens and pudding, they taste great, but they’re treats, not every day breakfast.

Today that all changed. As I passed the Dairy Section in my grocery contemplating which yogurt to buy my malnourished child, there was one of those women there. She had two boisterous brats sitting in the cart seat, one lagging alongside her, and man was she going at them. She bought 3 dozen, all neatly lined and stacked.  They looked good, I think I wanted one for myself. After I gave her nasty sidelong glances and she obliviously went on her merry way I looked at the nutrition label –just out of curiosity.

Did you know there are close to 200 calories in one Leben, and it has a 20% daily value of calcium? My kid needs calories, and calcium. I bought one, just one, to see if he’d even eat it.

Unsettled by my purchase, I planned waiting a day or two to give it to him. He found it though while I was unpacking and asked for it with a fervent,

“uuh, uh, uuuuuuuuuuh!!”

I gave it to him.

He inhaled it.

First he downed it with a spoon, (really a straw, but he got impatient that it was so thick and he had to suck for so long before it came, that he gave up and demand a spoon [more fervent “uuh, uh, uuuuuuuuuuuhhs!!), but when the spoon wasn’t adequate, he drank it, used  it like a cup. There was nothing left.

I’m torn, my kid ate, which is wonderful, miraculous really – but I really don’t want Lebens to be commonplace in my house. If I continue down this road, I’ll soon be listening to Uncle Moishy, and Morah Music, despite me having standards.

The slippery slope of parenting, I’ve only started the decent, but I think I get it. I’m only a few weeks away from buying stock in Lebens, please don’t judge me.