Mama, do you see yourself?

I have a hard time understanding people who don't believe in evolution. I understand faith, and for me there is room for both.

And when I see a video like this I am less able to understand how a person could deny that we are related to gorillas and chimps.I recognize myself in this mother mother- patting baby's bottom, lying down and nursing and feeling that oxytocin rush of relaxation. Don't you see yourself in this mama's eyes?

Signs that the Apocalypse is Nigh or

at least that the tween and teen years will be scary:

Sam's teacher told the class that there is a foul odor in the room after PE, and could they all please start wearing deodorant. And so today I helped my first baby choose some deodorant. Yikes. Little sister had to have some too, of course.

Yesterday I locked the bedroom door when I needed a break from Maya. First she wailed and banged on the door. Then she was quiet, and I heard sort of scratching on the door. All of the sudden the door opened. She had unlocked the door with a barrette. She is six. Is climbing out windows to hang with friends far behind? This morning we talked a little about respecting personal space. I asked what made her think of trying to open the door. Apparently she saw it on iCarly. sigh.

On a more uplifting note, lately I have seen glimpses of my face in Maya's face. What do you think?


Sam drew this over the summer- Pac Man as Picasso would see him

Moooom, I Want To!

Maya wants a lot of things. She hasn't quite learned that we sometimes have to wait for the things we want.

On Tuesday she wanted to sew a skirt she'd gotten too tall for into a pocketbook. Even though I was not really excited about the idea of dragging out the machine, making space on the table, and sewing it, I was even less excited to endure a fit. So I got out the machine.

And? I had a good time. Easy peasy- no pattern, just wing it. Input from Maya on the pseudo-appliques on the front (she asked about embroidering something which would have taken me a few years probably and then said- hey! we can sew a shape on). So nice to sew, and so nice to be present with my kids.

Love Thursday

My sweeties were racing in the neighbor's driveway, and I was shooting away in the lovely light. When I got them on the computer I caught this little glimpse Maya was giving Sam. Yes, they fight, they're siblings. However their love for each other knows no bounds, and it has been a blessing to watch this love bloom.

Visit Shutter Sisters for more Love Thursday.

Love Thursday

We've had a hectic few weeks since our return from spring break. Sickness, root canal, family birthday parties, Hebrew school. There's barely been time to take care of laundry, or piles of mail and the kids' artwork. All of this rushing about leaves me feeling like I'm spinning in circles.

Fortunately I have these delightful creatures to slow me down and enjoy the moments.







Yes, my child is swinging on a dead palm frond. Gotta love it.



This weekend is going to be all about getting off of this hamster wheel I've jumped on.

Letting it all sink in

I knew I would appreciate and love being with my sister, nephew, and brother-in-law, seeing the beautiful sights, and having tasty food and coffee. Our trip had one important gift that didn't fully reveal itself until later.

When we got home (it seems like both yesterday and a zillion weeks ago), I realized that my children had never seen a really grand synagogue until they visited the one in Budapest. When I pointed out the ark to Maya, she said "that's the ark? Really?" Our temple building is only a few years old. The building is simple, and although it is lovely, there are no elaborate stained glass windows, no painted vaulted ceilings. When we went upstairs to visit the synagogue's museum, I was thrilled to see their collection of ritual objects- ornate Torah adornments, beautiful spice boxes (used in the havdalah service), seder plates, kiddush cups, and candle sticks.

I'm so glad they had the opportunity to see the richness of Jewish tradition. The Orthodox synagogue my grandfather attended was a grand, majestic place; it had never occurred to me that my children only knew of our modest synagogue, and that they had no idea that synagogues might look different than the one we attend.

I'm not sure that my children would list this as a gift of their trip, but it was for me. Extra special thanks to my sister for planning our trip to Budapest and making sure that we got to visit the synagogue :)

Slow Saturday

This


plus this



equals this

Love Thursday

Lots of love this week, lots of love.



My boy



I love this whole drawing, but especially the way he portrayed the crowd in the stands.



Maya's really getting into drawing too.



happy animals



possessed animals?

Not so sure that sponsors/advertisers influence kids?

Two posts on Blogher reminded me to share this:

Maya came home with a sample of kids' toothpaste and a new toothbrush. She informed me that it was the best kind, and the kind we use is no good. She may have added that we should throw away ours and buy a tube of the sample. I said "Really? Did Mrs. D say that this was the best kind?"

She thought a second and said no, she didn't tell them that. I explained that all toothpastes work pretty much the same, and that I feel good about the kind I buy for the kids.

It's great that they are reinforcing dental hygiene at school. I'm just not comfortable with my kid getting a sample of something and internalizing it to mean "this must be the best, because why would my teacher give it to me otherwise."

Our school has a lot of freebies for the kids- the Pizza Hut Book It program gives kids a free personal pizza when they read at home all month, good grades get them a free "all American" meal at Mc Donald's with their report card envelope, and you can even buy Orlando Magic tickets at a discount when you are on the honor roll. This stuff has always made me vaguely uncomfortable. Partly because my parents believed that learning was its own reward- no money for grades at our house. ha! But more deeply because of what Maya made so clear to me this week with her free toothbrush.

The Indignities of Motherhood

I'm going to see this 3D movie, before seeing this one. Tis sad indeed. However my girlie is very excited about it, and so are her friends. I'm sure the looks on their faces this afternoon will make it worthwhile.

And if that isn't enough to sustain me, I'll just have to close my eyes and recall yesterday's great game.

Dear G_d

When you were handing out anxiety disorders mightn't it have been prudent not to also give the same person some really high intensity, and um, LOUD children? Cause, really, I like to eat dinner with my children, but today? My body was hurting so much from the loud noises that I had to lie down while they ate and then ate my own dinner alone.

The more things change, the more they stay the same

When I first went back to work after Maya was born, there was a day when I was relieved to have survived my day there with two children. I started loading up the car with our belongings. When I returned to the house to get the kids, I found Sam in the bathroom. He was washing his socks in the toilet. I completely lost it. I'm not certain that I came to work the next day--I think this was the time my dad worried if I'd ever come back!

This morning I went to see what the ruckus in the bathroom was. The children were supposed to be brushing their teeth. I enter to see Sam using the handle of his toothbrush to get something out of the toilet bowl. It was a hairbrush. I completely lost it. I mean, all I could think of was WHAT THE F*CK! Fortunately I used more developmentally appropriate words. But I yelled, I tried to let the rage out. I got them to school just as the bell was ringing, and then immediately called Erik to vent. Eventually my heart stopped pounding.

I was actually on my way to my psychiatrist, for a med check appointment. That could be a whole post in and of itself, but I do want to say that she reminded me to practice saying "It doesn't matter." True, children will put their hands in the toilet and the world won't end. I am having a hard time grasping why an 8.5 year old would put something in the toilet and then try to use his toothbrush to fish it out. I'm trying though, I'm trying.

My new mantra: It doesn't matter.

Who Praises Mothers?

On Thanksgiving my mil went into rapturous praise of her son-in-law's (one of my bils) talents as a father. She was talking to this particular bil's mother. She went on to say that both of her sons-in-law are great fathers, as is her son (my husband). Not once did she say anything about her daughter's being wonderful mothers.

I understand that things were different when she raised her children. Her husband has never changed a diaper and is proud of it. I'm not opposed to recognizing that today's involved dads are a source of wonder to her because her husband never lifted a finger (and for the most part still doesn't). What infuriates me is that dads seem to be praised at the exclusion of moms. What we do is just expected, normal. When a dad does the same thing people fawn over him, praise him, congratulate him.

Mothers need praise too. I wish I had a little business card or something to hand out to moms I see out and about. Instead I give them a big smile, and hope that they don't take me for a nutcase, that I'm simply sending them good mama-vibes.

***

Back to my mil, later on in the weekend she complained about a neighbor of hers, how spoiled she is and how her husband does everything she asks. Why is my mil so bitter that this woman's husband gets her coffee, or whatever? Hmm, think it has to do with 50 years of serving fil? Seriously, she makes him breakfast lunch and dinner.

My Daughter is Kicking my Ass these Days

She wants more of me; scratch that. She wants all of me. It isn't enough to sit on the couch with me, she has to be touching me. We can't sit at a table together, we must be on the same side of the table. And then she'll get up and stand between our chairs, because "mommy, I want to beeee with you." "Mommy, I neeeeed you" is the constant refrain.

Most of the time no one else is good enough. I should be sitting here giving thanks that she happily went with Dad and Grandpa on a volunteer assignment this morning, and that she let Dad put her to sleep. Instead I sit here in fear, wondering how tomorrow will be.

I worry about my daughter. She has these tremendous emotional eruptions. She goes from sweet and loving one minute to a tornado of rage the next. Heaven forbid someone other than mom try to talk to her during those moments. Lots of grunting or shrieking. Or maybe some wildly swinging arms. This is so very much fun to explain to grandparents, or say, guests at Thanksgiving who've never met her.

Is she going to have a lifetime of emotional difficulty? Can I help her learn to handle her emotions? I work so hard at keeping my cool, so hard at modeling my emotions for her, and I'm not sure I get anywhere.

I'll keep at it though. My parents were seemingly oblivious to my anxiety. I owe it to little Jennifer to do my best by Maya.

Days of Awe

The Jewish High Holy Days are also known as the Days of Awe. Last night as I read to Sam before bed, I thought it was also an apt description of those delicious moments of parenthood, when you just can't believe what you're witnessing in the growth of another human being.

Maya's learning to read. It's a mind blowing thing to see. She's so eager, and her face positively glows when she reads us a book that's at just the right level for her. The whole world is opening up--Mama, what does this spell? Mama, how do you spell that? So many questions. I love it. It's just magical when they go from not-reading to reading. I have so many doubts and worries as a parent, yet knowing that I'm raising two children who love to read goes a long way in soothing my worries.

A few weeks ago I saw this book at the library: Tour America: A Journey Through Poems and Art. I decided not to borrow it, as I already had my arms full of books. When we went to the library on Wednesday, I was thrilled that Sam chose it from the new book shelf. I was reading the poems to Sam last night; we were just having a great time looking at the wonderful illustrations, paintings, and collages which accompany the poetry. He was getting so tired, yet he really wanted me to keep reading. I turned out the light and we talked for a few minutes in the dark. He was so interested in the places the poems described, the art in the book, in figuring out what the poems meant.

These are my days of awe.

How to Get Mom's Attention

While Sam was sick, I received this message:

To: Mom
On couch near 1st bedroom

From: Sam at table

To Mom:

I want turkey on a hamburger bun.

Love, Sam

Yes, I did get up and fix his sandwich : )

Sad and humorous scenes from a sick at home weekend

First the sad: poor Sam awoke early on Saturday morning, ran into our room, and complaining of a headache. He was burning up. He slept most of Saturday, preferring to sleep on the floor in the family room where we spent the day rather than in the comfort of his bed. The saddest sight was him, asleep on the floor, with his head on a board game that Maya and I had just played.

He perked up around 8 pm and worriedly said "I haven't worked on my math facts!" He did his flash cards for a bit then, even though I told him it was ok. He's also sad that he won't have perfect attendance this year. On Sunday he asked Erik how long a person could go without eating. My poor baby.

He's still hot and miserable today. Yesterday he told us that he felt like he was burning up, and that having a fever made him feel like he had no brain. We went to the doctor today and he started amoxil; hopefully he'll be fever free tomorrow, and then ready to return to school on Thursday.

And for the humorous: is there anything funnier than an eight year old listening to an ipod, singing When I'm 64, Tax Man, and all the Lonely People aloud? I think not.

Getting to the Root of Things

Last week I received letters from each of my children's teachers. And each one resulted in tears. My tears, not my children's tears.

Neither letter contains anything that signifies the end of the world. Neither is beyond remedying. So why the tears? Worse than the tears--why the ache in my heart and stomach?

I'm not one of those "helicopter mothers." While of course I take pride in my children's accomplishments (geez, they are 8 & 5, accomplishments sounds a bit much, no?), I don't live through them. So what on earth is my deal?

I thought about it all weekend. I think that I'm particularly sensitive to any hint of rebuke from teachers because of an incident that happened when I was in first grade. I was shy (and anxious!) and did not want to read aloud to the class when called upon. I can still see the illustration accompanying the text about a mail man in my mind's eye. The teacher called me to her desk, and asked me to bring my reader. She took the reader from me, as punishment, and I recall going back to my desk crying. I didn't go home and tell my parents; they eventually heard it from the teacher herself at parent-teacher night. My mother, also a teacher, was furious that I'd had a book taken from me.

After letting the tears out, and having lots of time on Yom Kippur to ponder this, I re-read the email from my daughter's teacher. I can see that I read the note as an indictment of my parenting. Add that to my sensitive nature, and this apparently unresolved first grade incident, a 24 hour fast, and boom. It ain't pretty. I hope that I can excise the hurt that I am still carrying around, and figure out how to hear from my children's teachers without reverting to that crying first grader.

Quest

When I saw the theme at Mama Says Om, I first thought of those delicious moments overhearing the kids plan some great adventure. Then I thought of my own quests.



Quest for Inner Peace. I've been seeking this for some time now--my holy grail. It is a three steps forward, two steps back kind of journey. This week has had advances and setbacks galore.



My next quest is for peace in parenting. This quest is closely linked to the quest for inner peace. I wonder if you can have one without the other, or if one must come before the other by necessity.



The quest for time for creativity suffers at the hand of the other two. The projects and ideas pile up, and whirl around my head. I know what I need to do to have peace in parenting, but often my desperate grasping after time for creativity causes me to lose my tentative grasp. But if I don't get to express myself, will I ever achieve inner peace?

Kids Plan a Dinner Party

Anne Marie at Readable Feast is sharing writing invitations this summer. Sam is pretty self-motivated as far as doing summer reading and writing goes, but I thought it would be fun to pose some of the questions to both of the kids.

Last week I asked both of them who from the past or the present they'd invite to a dinner party. I loved their answers.

Sam, age 8:

• George Lucas
• Frank Oz (voice of Yoda)
• The Beatles

Maya, age 5.5

• Britney, her best friend
• Bono
• JD Fortune (new singer for INXS)
• the person who plays Ariel the Little Mermaid
• Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia, after prompting from her brother

I love it! I think I'll try to ask them every few years to see how their answers change.

Bonus conversation:
Maya- I love you Mama (for the hundredth time that day)
Me- I love you too Maya
Maya- I even love you when you're upset with me.
Me- I love you all the time too, Maya.