Tag Archives: mother

Getting the Hang of this Motherhood Thing

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Would it surprise you to know that, growing up, I never gave much thought to being a mother?  I wasn’t a girl who obsessed with dolls or ooo’d and aaah’d over babies.  I mean, I though babies were cute and all, but after a babysitting experience in my late teens where the child was inconsolable and had projectile spit up/ vomit (I don’t remember which it was), I think I was a little put off.

Then I became religious, and babies were EVERYWHERE.

So I went from not considering babies at all to assuming that I would have a substantial amount of them.  It was a bit of a drastic shift, and one I didn’t consider the ramifications of.  I liked the idea of having a lot of children, but I didn’t really think about the practical side of what that meant on a day-to-day basis.

After I had my first baby, it seemed to me that I was somehow different from some of the other mothers I knew.  It wasn’t just that I was older than most of them.  No, it was a difference in approach, in the amount of worrying done, the amount of research into each coo and gurgle.  I just didn’t seem very, well, maternal.

Little Man, back when he was really little

Gigi at Kludgy Mom has a wonderful series called “Around the Bonfire,” where different women share what they might talk about, you guessed it, around the bonfire.  All the posts that I’ve read in this series have been poignant, relatable, and moving.  It’s women sharing with other women things that we think about, worry about, remember, but often don’t take the time to share.  But it’s exactly these things which need to be shared to remind and reassure ourselves (and others) that we’re all normal in our insecurities and struggles, and we can all rise above them to meet our potential.

I’m happy to be a part of the series, where I talk about coming to terms with “just” being a mother, and how I finally feel like I’m getting the hang of this motherhood thing.  See you over there!

The Mommy Wars – Guest Post at Beltway Buzz

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In the comments of blogs and Facebook statuses (stati?) there are wars occurring between mothers.  What about? Parenting choices.  Methods which are accepted wholeheartedly by one portion of the population are considered neglect, abuse or worse by another.

I’m kind of a live-and-let-live gal when it comes to these things, and I have been shocked and awed at the degree of viciousness and vitriol exhibited by these anonymommies online.  Whenever I witness a skirmish, or full-on battle, it sets my teeth on edge.  Intellectually, I understand that the mothers who are railing hard against whatever it is are doing so because they passionately, fervently believe that what they are doing is the best thing for their child and their family.  But it still gets on my nerves.  A lot.  A whole lot.

So while I’ve wanted to write a rant about it for a while, I realized that I would rather write something humorous.  And that is what I did over at Beltway Buzz.  Go, read and (hopefully) laugh:  The Mommy Wars

The Truth About Motherhood

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Just the other day I had one of those blissed-out mommy moments.  The kind where I was enjoying motherhood so much it was euphoric.  My baby was happily babbling, telling me all about the train he was playing with, helping me open the blinds, cheerfully toddling about the apartment, wide grin on his adorable face.

Those are the moments where I want to gushingly post on my Facebook status about how much I love being a mom.

But before I ran to my laptop I thought about a recent conversation I had with a friend.  We were talking about how sometimes being a mommy to little ones is so frustrating that we feel like we want to tear our hair out (or sheitels off, if you like).  You know, the moments where we are pushed beyond our threshold of patience and understanding.  She expressed the sentiment that she feels like she is the only mother who is exceedingly frustrated by raising her children.

It made me think about how there can be an expectation to be a perfect parent, to enjoy motherhood all the time, to not share our frustrations and concerns with our peers.  It’s possible that we don’t share our struggles with other mothers for fear of exposing our vulnerability.

I think that’s a mistake.

About a month ago there was an article by Glennon Melton where she wrote about how she chooses not to carpe diem.  Basically, she acknowledged that motherhood is not all sunshine and roses, and to expect mothers to “enjoy every moment” because “it goes by so quickly” is unrealistic.

Motherhood is FULL of struggles.  Full of them.  Chock full.  To the brim.  Every day.  It’s hard.  It’s not always enjoyable.  It’s mind-numbingly frustrating at times.   Sometimes it’s a whole day of frustration ending with a nightcap of near-insanity.  And the terrifying thing is that my kids are still very small.  There’s a whole world of parenting challenges which I haven’t yet experienced.

Everyone reacts differently to the stress of parenting.  Some mothers tune out, some yell, some get sarcastic.  Some people have shorter fuses than others, some are more controlling, some are more distant.  It’s hard not to judge other parents for their methods of coping with the stress.  There’s such a pressure to do things right, to be the best parent (Here’s a great list satirizing how it can feel like everyone one is a better parent than you are.)

As for alleviating the pressure of trying not to make mistakes, I think of a quote attributed to Gila Manolson:

The mistakes we make as parents are the opportunities we give our kids for working on themselves when they are adults.

What a relief, right?  Most parents I know genuinely have their children’s best interests at heart, and I think most of us have an internal monitor which helps us gauge when we are doing the best we can.  Everyone has their own unique combination of strengths and limitations, and we are usually the only ones who genuinely know when we are succeeding in our struggles.

Like anything in life that’s challenging, the harder the work, the greater the reward.  I’m reminded of a Beethoven piano sonata that I worked on in college (No.30 in E, Op.109, if you’re interested).  While it may seem trivial to compare the responsibility of parenting to learning a piece of music, bear with me here.

This piece was challenging.  It’s one of his late piano sonatas, which are generally more complex than his earlier ones (as an aside, he was completely deaf when he wrote it.  Talk about overcoming challenges!).  It is also heart-wrenchingly beautiful, and I wanted to play it very badly.  However, as it was above my level as a pianist, it took me quite some time to be able to just play the notes.

There were many moments in learning the piece when I would plateau and even regress.  I would have long stretches where I would make the same mistake repeatedly.  It was very frustrating.  But then I would have a breakthrough, and I would be able to play something which had been previously unattainable.  When I was able to play the entire piece, it was a tremendous feeling of accomplishment.  Tremendous.

That’s kind of how I view parenting.  I have a goal, and I have moments where I feel like I’m not progressing, where I feel stalled and frustrated.  Then I experience extraordinary moments of success and growth, and it gives me energy to continue.  I imagine the nachas a parent feels when they see an adult child living happily and successfully must be absolutely amazing.  But the amount of work it takes to get to that point, well.  It’s not a small amount.  But it’s well worth it.

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Women Who Inspire Us #10: My neighbor and colleague

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Today’s post is the tenth in the Women Who Inspire Us Series.  You can read the previous posts here.  You may also want to subscribe to my RSS feed, or “like” my Facebook page to catch the upcoming posts.  As always, if you would like to share your inspiration by participating in the series, please contact me.  I would LOVE to hear who inspires you, and hope to keep this series ongoing!

I’m happy to bring you this post from my friend, Penina.  She lives in Miami Beach, is a mother of two girls – an energetic toddler and happy infant, and is trying to balance motherhood, wifehood and being a part-time first-time kindergarten teacher.  Thanks for taking the time to share with us, Penina!

Who is a woman you find inspirational?

My neighbour and fellow teacher

What is her relationship to you?

She lives in the Yeshiva building where my husband learns and works, and she teaches in the same preschool with me.

Where did you meet her?

In Miami Beach, she used to live in the same apartment building as my aunt and uncle.

When did you meet her?  Do you think the timing of your meeting affected her impact on you?

I really only met her after I was engaged.  She was the first family I went to for a Shabbos meal with my (future) husband.  She was one of the first influences on me at a time when I was starting to REALLY think about the family I was setting out to build.

What is inspirational about her?

I’m impressed with so much about her.  She has, B”H, 8 children, between the ages of twelve and 8 months old.  She keeps her house not spotless, but ordered and neat.  Her kids are dressed nicely and clean, smiling and happy, and always ready to help out at home and taking care of the younger children.

As if that wasn’t enough, she runs a business out of her home.  Each week, she bakes challah, cookies, brownies, cinnamon buns and other treats and sells them in the community.

What really inspires me is how normal she is, how normal the entire family is.  They’re not perfect, but they keep trying and smiling.  She invited us for a meal on Shabbos the week before school started, when we were BOTH stressed, frustrated and exhausted from setting up.

How has this inspiration affected your life?  Do you think it has made you a better person?  How so?

She has definitely affected how I look at the giant job of being a mother, wife and teacher.  After talking to her and getting to know her over the last 2 1/2 years, I know she doesn’t always do what she wants – sometimes laundry gets finished a different day, or all the floors aren’t mopped each week.  Sometimes her husband makes lunches for the kids, and sometimes kugels burn because something else came up.  And sometimes she’ll bake a batch of cookies late at night so she can read books and play with her children.  But she shows me that it is possible to be smiling at the end of each day, to have happy children, an appreciative husband and content students, no matter how many minor setbacks there were that day.

She inspires me to keep trying.  That no matter what happens, just to do what I can and be satisfied with that.  To spend quality time with my family above every other “pressing” need.  And to keep smiling through it all.

When do you find yourself thinking of this person?  How do you feel when you think about her?

I think about her every time I find myself getting overwhelmed with things I “need” to do.  I remember how she sacrifices her nights so she can spend time with her children by day, and most of the time I’ll do the same.  When I first met her, I admit, I felt a little jealous that she manages to do so much with so many other things going on in her day.  But now I see that it’s possible, and she inspires me to try harder, not to give up, and do the best that I know I can do.

Women Who Inspire Us #8: My mother

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Today’s post is the eighth in the Women Who Inspire Us Series.  You can read the previous posts here.  You may also want to subscribe to my RSS feed, or “like” my Facebook page to catch the upcoming posts.  As always, if you would like to share your inspiration by participating in the series, please contact me.  I would LOVE to hear who inspires you!

Mirjam Weiss, aka Mirj, is just a girl from the Bronx living in Israel since 1983.  She loves to cook and has a need to feed, often using her husband and eight children (four of them hers, four of them his) as guinea pigs for various culinary experiments.  She enjoys nothing more than a table full of hungry guests for a Shabbat meal.  She writes about food and recipes and the stories behind them on her blog, Miriyummy.

Who is a women you find inspirational?

The woman I find so inspiration to me is Dora Magat Wachter, who passed away in October 2009.

What is her relationship to you?

This may sound like such a cliche, but she was (and always will be) my mother.

Where did you meet her?

We met on Fifth Avenue in New York.  I was in Mount Sinai Hospital, where I assume I was born (I have never found my birth certificate, and have no need of it right now).  I met my mother and father when they came to pick me up, they adopted me.  I don’t know how old I was, but the first pictures are dated about 2 months after my birth date.

When did you meet her?  Do you think the timing of your meeting affected her impact on you?

I don’t know how old I was, but the first pictures are dated about 2 months after my birth date.  The timing was very important for both of us.  I needed someone to love me and take care of me and make a commitment to raise me, and she needed a child, the one that was denied to her biologically thanks to the Nazis in Bergen Belsen.

What is inspirational about her (it can be more than one thing, i.e. personality, actions, overcoming hardships)?  Can you share a specific memory (or more than one)?

The one moment that most inspired me about my mother is the moment she would have wished had never happened.  I had a normal upbringing in New York, about as normal as you can get with one very willful daughter and one tortured Holocaust survivor.  My mother shared many stories about her experiences in the ghetto and in the camps, but she obviously didn’t share all of them.  I never knew I was adopted, until just after my 41st birthday.

There was enough to admire about my mother.  She was a ghetto rat, smuggling food through the sewers of Vilna and helping her family to survive.  She had been a hard worker in Bergen Belsen, working in the kitchens during the day, taken away to the SS barracks at night to suffer unspeakable horrors.  I knew my mother had been scarred for life psychologically, but I never dreamed of the physical scarring.  In order to make her more “available,” the Nazis sterilized her.

In 2003, when I was 41, I traveled to New York for my father’s first yahrzeit.  He had died the year before following a quadruple bypass operation.  The day of the yahrzeit was at the end of December.  The streets were covered in snow, we really had no way of getting from the Bronx to New Jersey, and worst of all, in the depression that overtook my mother since she lost her partner and best friend, there was no stone on the grave.  My mother couldn’t face the fact that she had not yet put up a stone.  “Aba will be mad at me!” she cried.  Literally cried.

So I made a decision, we weren’t going to the cemetery.  As far as I was concerned, my father wasn’t there.  I could always find my father in his collection of books, in the sweater still hanging on the coat rack in the hall, in my memories of him.  We didn’t need to go to the cemetery to honor my father.

This news seemed to calm my mother down.  After about an hour of us just sitting quietly together, one of my cousins called.  He was my father’s sister’s son, and he called to ask what time we were all meeting at the cemetery.  And when I told him we weren’t going he became very angry.  And that’s when he told me I had never been my father’s true daughter, and this proved I was not really his daughter.  And the penny dropped.

So many things started to make sense.  I hung up the phone and asked my mother if I was adopted.  She started to cry, this was one of her worst nightmares come true.  She told me I wasn’t adopted and she had the papers to prove I wasn’t adopted.  I didn’t even ask to see those papers.  I called my favorite cousin, ironically the sister of this horrific cousin, and she confirmed the news.  I called my father’s sister in Israel, and she told me this was true.

I cried for about an hour, and then I realized, so what?  Big deal!  My mother and father didn’t give me birth, but they gave me life.  My mother brought me home, loved me, raised me, fed me, educated me, drove me crazy.  She was truly my mother.  And in that moment I never loved her more.  And it took me 41 years, but there and then I had such a burst of pride and respect for this woman, the feeling still has me reeling today, almost eight years later.

How has this inspiration affected your life?  Do you think it has made you a better person?  How so?

It’s humbling to realize that one can treat one’s mother in such an offhand manner and take her for granted.  Since that moment I have never taken my mother for granted again.  I remember asking her, once upon a teenage time, what did you do to survive the Holocaust?  And her answer?  “I didn’t do anything, ” she said, “I was just lucky to survive.”

Which makes me now think, what have I done to deserve such a strong woman, such a loving person, such a nurturing mother.  Nothing.  I was just lucky to have her.  And for so many years I didn’t even realize this.  Has it made me a better person?  I don’t know.  I’d like to think that just living with such a woman has made me a better person, not just the one inspiration that really came too late for me to really appreciate her while she was alive.

When do you find yourself thinking of this person?  How do you feel when you think about her?

I think of my mother, and my father, often.  I especially think of my mother when I am in the kitchen.  My mom was the most amazing cook.  I know almost everyone thinks of their mother as having been a wonderful cook, but my mom really was, honestly!  She showed her love through feeding people, and I have inherited that characteristic of her, although my husband will tell you it’s not so much of a personality trait as it is an obsession.  I channel my mother when I use her wooden chopping bowl, her sharp hochmesser (the two blades connected by a handle that she used to chop onions, liver and most everything else in that wooden bowl).

I think of her when I find myself saying something to my children that she always said to me (when I stood staring into the refrigerator for an infinite number of minutes she would say, “There’s no television in there!).  I find myself turning into my mother, and I am both horrified and honored at the same time.

Thank you so much, Rivki.  I will always miss and love my mother, but thank you for the opportunity of honoring her.

Women Who Inspire Us #6: My mother

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Today’s post is the sixth in the Women Who Inspire Us Series.  You can read the previous posts here.  You may also want to subscribe to my RSS feed, or “like” my Facebook page to catch the upcoming posts.  As always, if you would like to share your inspiration by participating in the series, please contact me.  There is still plenty of time to be involved!

My friend Sarah contributed this post.  I met Sarah back at Neve, and am happy to spend time with her on Yom Tov break, when we are usually in the same city, and, hopefully, at Ben & Jerry’s as well.  She currently lives in Israel with her husband and shmushy delicious daughter (who recently turned one!).

Who is a women you find inspirational?

Debbie Feinwachs

What is her relationship to you?

My mother

Where did you meet her?

Ummm…in utero? :-p

What is inspirational about her (it can be more than one thing, i.e. personality, actions, overcoming hardships)? Can you share a specific memory (or more than one)?

My mother was an extremely strong and courageous person.  She was a stay-at-home full-time mom until I turned 6, at which point she had to go to work as a teacher in order to support us.  My mother managed to raise two kids completely by herself, and she did an amazing job given the lousy hand that was dealt to her.

She devoted herself fully to us and to all her students.  She loved teaching and really cared about her students.  My mother was humble and always surprised to find out that someone knew her, that she had had an impact on them.  She was a bright, positive person, always considerate of everyone.
How has this inspiration affected your life? Do you think it has made you a better person? How so?

I would not be who I am today if it hadn’t been for my mother.  I am, without a doubt, a better person for having had her in my life.  I find myself having a sudden inspiration to do certain things with my daughter and then I realize they are games or things that my mother used to play with us.
When do you find yourself thinking of this person? How do you feel when you think about her?

I think about her all the time.  She died when I was 24, a little over a year before I met my husband.  Usually I feel sad when I think about her, about the fact that she never got to meet my husband, or her grand-daughter (who we named for her).

Every time I look at my daughter I think about my mother (which basically means I think about her all day long).  I daven that my daughter will grow up to be like my mother because I can’t imagine a better person for her to be like.

Getting some Mommy Me-time

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I never used to be a homebody.  The minute I walked through the door I was itching to get out!  A coffee shop, a concert, a jam session, whatever.  I loved to be around people, action, excitement.  You could say I thrived on it.

Now, by the end of the day, I’m hearing the call of the couch much, much louder than the call of any potential activity (can’t you hear it?  Rivki….Rivkiiiiii).  And that’s on a normal day.  Yesterday was not normal.

My baby is teething, but super-efficiently.  He’s getting four at once.  He is a ball of miserable, poor thing!  This means, of course, that I am holding him.  All day.  And using Motrin, Tylenol and Baby Orajel.   And lots of cuddling.  Now, my toddler is a smart kid (in my unbiased opinion).  He sees that when the baby cries, the baby gets lots and lots of attention.  So, of course, he mimics what he sees as a successful formula.

This means that I have two crying, kvetching and clingy kids.  That’s okay.  I’ve made my peace with not getting the cleaning, cooking, or anything like that done.  I’ve been drinking tepid coffee for two-and-a-half years now, and while I still prefer hot coffee, I’m not expecting it any time soon.

But, boy, is it draining!  This is why, despite my fatigue and waning desire to socialize, I went out last night.  It was clear to me that I needed some time just to be me.  Away from the laundry, the dishes, the toys that need picking up.

“Mommy – it opened by itself!”

When I take the time to do something for myself, I’m recharging my batteries.  I know that for most moms, it’s not a simple feat to schedule some time for themselves into their crowded schedule.  I usually forget to do it until I feel like I’m going to pull my hair out.  My goal is to be able to take some me-time before it’s so obviously needed.  Even though it’s hard to do, it’s pretty crucial.

Dr. Nadine Kaslow of Emory University explains why me-time is so important:

“First of all it’s really hard to take care of other people if you are not taking care of yourself. If you think about a car metaphor, if there’s not enough fuel in the car, the car won’t go,” she said. “A second reason is when people aren’t taking care of themselves, they tend to get resentful of the other people they are taking care of in their lives, so they may become short or irritable with them. A third reason is that life is more meaningful and gratifying if we take care of ourselves; we tend not to feel depressed,” she added. “We feel less anxious, and moms who are not depressed and less anxious are more able to be effective mothers.”

(from CNN.com – HEALTH)

Me-time doesn’t have to mean going out to a social event.  It doesn’t even have to involve spending any money (thank goodness!).  It could be as simple as reading a book, or taking a bubble bath, or reading my blog (what?  How’d that get there…).  I used to like to leave my kids at the sitter and go to the Art Museum.  It cost a little bit for the childcare, but it was well worth it.

How do you spend your me-time?

Teething is a Pain. Literally.

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Teething baby: lower right incisor broken through.

ouch!

When my babies get their first teeth they somehow cease to be babies.  That yummy, toothless smile, so delightful and winsome, becomes older, more experienced.  It brings with it the promise of solid food, cruising and toddlerhood.

Also sleep deprivation.  Lots of sleep deprivation.

Just after my baby started sleeping beautifully, blissfully through the night, BAM.  Tooth city!  Well, at least I think it’s teething.  Here are the symptoms:

  • Gnawing on things (like my fingers.  He already has two teeth, so, ow!)
  • Pulling on his ears (did you know that teething pain can feel like ear pain?  Yowza!)
  • Drooling (it’s like a waterfall over here)
  • Congestion (a cruel side effect, if you ask me)
  • Interrupted sleep (an even crueler side effect for all of us)
  • Kvetchiness (poor kiddo)

So, even though I see all these  classic signs of teething (at least according to Dr. Sears), because I don’t see the outline of a little tooth, I still halfway think I’m making it up.  That little voice inside my head keeps saying

“What if he just has an ear infection?  What if it’s a double ear infection?  What if, what if, WHAT IF?!?!”

I would simply go to the doctor, but our insurance doesn’t start until August 1st (fun fun), and my suggestion that I trail my husband to work and get him to covertly use one of the hospital’s otoscopes was shot down (I though it was a good plan).  Also, we both think it’s teething.

So, I’ve been doing some of what is recommended for teething:

  • Giving him cold things to chew on (so proud/amazed that I actually keep the teething rings in the fridge)
  • Acetaminophen (that’s Tylenol’s “other” name)
  • Cuddling and affection (the poor little guy is in pain.  So sad)
  • Davening (okay, not exactly recommended on WebMD, but I think it’s pretty effective

When doing a little research for teething relief, I stumbled across some natural and homeopathic remedies.  I found this link to amber necklaces – no, not to chew on, to wear.  For the baby.  Has anyone ever done this?  Or known anyone who did it?  I am highly skeptical here, and I’m into that kind of stuff.  Well, kinda.

What would you do in my situation?  Go to the emergency room and wait for a doctor to look in his ears?  Try to track down a pediatrician at home and cajole them into using their otoscope?  Buy our own otoscope on ebay?

Please advise.

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image via Wikipedia

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Parenting is really gross

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Toy Ducks

Image by The Opus via Flickr

Warning:  this post contains a high level of gross!  Proceed at your own risk.

I am not easily grossed out. I like it when my husband gives me gory details of some procedure he did at work. I flip through the pages of his medical journals and don’t wince at the pictures of who-knows-what.  I’m pretty tough, usually.

This is handy, since being a parent is oftentimes very gross. As one of my friends put it once, there’s always some excretion from your kid getting on you. Whether it’s drool, spit-up, vomit, blood, or, yes, stuff that is in a diaper.

We experienced a quintessential gross parenting moment Thursday night.

I was busy in the kitchen, makin’ some Shabbos food, and my husband was in the bathroom with the kids, giving our toddler a bath while the baby happily stood by the edge of the tub, peering over at his brother (or the toys).  There was happiness, giggling, nachas.  What a beautiful family we have!

Then, from the bathroom, with a strained and slightly panicked tone, I hear my husband call out

“Honey, I need some help in here!!!”

Quickly, I wash and dry my hands, disastrous scenarios running through my mind.  You know, the kind that I never would have thought about until I was a mother, but now have a permanent spot in my head space, urging me to exercise Constant Vigilance.

When I get to the bathroom (all of ten steps, maybe), I see my husband holding a struggling and kvetching baby, and a perplexed looking toddler standing in a tub.  Oh, and excrement.  Lots of it, also floating in the tub.  Great.

But it gets better.

My husband fills me in on the situation, saying with a . . . giggle?

“I noticed that Little Man went to the bathroom in the tub, and then I noticed that Really Little Man was reaching into the tub, scooping it up and eating it.”

Eating it, people.

(These are the kinds of posts that I will have to delete when the kids get older.)

My husband is laughing with a sort of disbelieving chuckle.  He chortles to me,

“Really Little Man has poo on his face.  All over it!”

I fail to see the humor here, exactly.  Mainly I am just GROSSED OUT.  Big time.

I whip into action, swiftly removing the (still perplexed and now protesting) toddler from the tub.  I wrap him in a towel and whisk him off to his room.  I gently explain to him why he had to leave the tub so quickly, and he solemnly repeats the info back to me, in his squeaky little voice,

“Leave the tub so fast.   Water dirty.  Yeah.”

My husband is still amused by the situation.  I am still grossed out, and more than a little displeased at having to clean/disinfect/sterilize/hermetically seal the tub and toys.  Yuck.

Anyways, this is not the first – nor last, I suspect – time that there will be #2 in my tub.  There will probably be more and varied grossness that I have yet to see.  It’s just part of parenting.  And that’s okay with me.  Still, I wish there were a magic button I could push when things like this happen.  You know, summon the amazing cleaning gnomes to disinfect those toys for me.  Oh well…

What’s the grossest parental experience you’ve the the pleasure to share?  Or have heard of? 

(FTR, my husband gave me permission to share this story)