For Everything Else, There's $25

Yesterday we observed Tisha B'Av, the "saddest day" of the Jewish year. It is the culmination of 3 weeks of sadness, a remembrance of too many times in Jewish history that our people suffered, of the physical and spiritual void that we long to fill where our Holy Temple once stood, may it come to be rebuilt speedily in our days. I'm not a huge fan of sadness, planned or otherwise. Who is? And honestly, I found myself asking why we "need another 3 weeks to be sad this year?" Have we not experienced enough of this on a daily basis since the middle of March? And by yesterday, notably the "saddest day," as I fasted from a very horizontal position in my bed longing to eat anything not nailed to the wall, I was just content to be "done with it." To move on. To get back to normal life. Or at least laundry. 

Indeed, this pandemic has stretched on for 141 days now. But who's counting? I have been able to see so many silver linings to our days and hours and minutes. That is probably why I can write this from the comfort of my own home instead of a bed in a psychiatric ward. My family is healthy, thank G-d. We have what we need. We are able to work together and have flexibility to manage my husband working from home and everyone being here at the same time. My kids have each other. We have each other. We get to play. A lot. Maybe even enough. (Can you ever play enough?) And yet every day is laden with decisions we have to make. Decisions that should feel small but feel enormous. Who should go to the grocery store? Should we take the kids to a park for a walk if we all wear masks in 106 degree temperatures? Should we bring them in to see the pediatrician for their wellness checks or do it via telepractice? Should I wipe down the outside of the soap bottle I just bought or let it stay in the hot car for 24 hours? Should I wash my hands again, for the 6th time in 15 minutes because I did go to the grocery store and bring the bottle of soap in from the car? Yes, the answer to that is always yes. What should we do about school in the Fall? 

And that right there is my privilege speaking at full volume. That any of these things even are decisions to be made is an enormous luxury. That the extremely difficult decision we came to about our children and school in the Fall is one that hadn't been made for me or one that could even have more than one mystery door to open and walk through is a luxury we have that many many others do not. But I think I have decision fatigue (is that a thing?). I hate making decisions. I wanted to plant a garden this Spring and I couldn't decide what type of tomatoes to grow when I made a curbside pickup order at our local nursery. (There's my privilege speaking again.) So in the email I just said "four types of tomato plants, you pick.

I wonder why I didn't think to take this approach with the whole school in the Fall decision... "Can stay at home and distance learn, homeschool, school in person...you pick!" But at least the probable outcome with the tomato plants was four types of tomatoes (less probable when I'm the gardener but luck shone down on these little guys). The probable outcome of my children's educational experience, physical, social and mental health next year (and ours as well) is totally unknown. I don't love surprises. I'm learning to love them in small increments. But when I say that, I mean, I like "surprise, I got you a new book!" Or "Surprise! We're having waffles for dinner!"  Not "Surprise, that store you went to yesterday to pick up a tub of margarine is the last place outside of your house you will go to for the next 3 months" or "Surprise! You picked Mystery Door #2 and now your kid is ruined forever and will blame you in therapy for the next 30 years."

When I was growing up, my parents could fix just about anything. From a broken VCR to a skinned knee, from a teen-aged broken heart to a failed math test, my parents could fix it. There was a DIY book on the shelf for the VCR and when that didn't pan out, we got to have at it with screw drivers and a hammer. There were several types of band aids and topical ointments for the skinned knee and a kiss made everything better. There were real life examples of surviving the pain of unrequited teenaged love and a trip to the ice cream parlor to manage the interim. There was empathy and a tutor who smelled like Irish Spring soap and buttered popcorn to help with my math test. And then, sometimes, something would happen and my dad would just give us $25. That time I discovered I was eating my favorite animal in our Chinese takeout? $25. That time we got into a fight with a friend and came home crying? $25. That time he accidentally said something that made us cry? $25. It's something we've poked loving fun at over the years and once in a great while, I will still follow up a conversation about something difficult with "does this mean I get $25?"

So this morning, S woke up crying. He's been a bit more emotional the past week since having a Zoom playdate with a friend (because that is a thing now). He sat on his Tatty's lap and cried because he misses his teachers from last year. He misses his friends. He, like the rest of us, misses life as he used to know it. And maybe he's crying for what was. Maybe he's crying for what is. Maybe he's crying for what is still ahead--more of this Unknown and Waiting, arguably two of the most difficult states to live in for any amount of time when you are 6 (or 36), even for minutes, let alone months. And my first response when my husband told me was "What can I do? I don't have a way to fix it." So I texted my sister and asked her if she thought $25 might help. Like, at what age do we start offering $25 to fix things? 

And that's when I also finally understood what that $25 was all about. That was what was offered for the things that couldn't be fixed. When there was no way to bandage or explain away the pain. For when there were no books or experts to heal the hurt. For when no previous experience of one's own or otherwise could point you in the direction of which Mystery Door to open next, there was $25. It might not fix the problem at hand, but it was something. It said, "I can't make this better, but I want to." It said, "I can't take this away but I wish I could." It said "I'm not perfect, the world is not perfect, and you don't have to be either."

Two crisp bills, a twenty and a five, said that sometimes you just have to sit with that sadness. Maybe for a day or maybe 3 weeks. Maybe every year around the same time. You have to give it a space and a place. That place can be a lap and that space needs to have walls because you cannot stay in it forever. But it can be warm and it can be cozy and can be followed up with $25 (or in this case, a trip to the park for a nature walk). Because sadness is sometimes not a bad thing. Sadness is just another way of longing. Longing for what was, longing for what will become. And just on the other side of longing is motion. Motion forward (or backward), actions of change, actions of learning, growth, release. Longing is what propels us ahead. Maybe at full speed and maybe just one foot in front of the other, but it is what tells us "You can sit in this sadness, you can miss what was.  You can be apprehensive about what is and what will become." And longing is what keeps us going. 

Maybe those three weeks of not cutting our hair or buying new clothes or listening to music are not a "punishment." Maybe those 9 days before Tisha b'Av that we don't eat meat or drink wine or do our laundry are not a "harsh decree." Maybe that is G-d's way of saying we can wear our comfiest sweatpants with an extra loose waistband and eat mac n'cheese for every meal and ice cream straight from the tub for dessert. Maybe it's His way of saying we can listen to that sad song on repeat 389 times and cry into our pillows instead of putting on a happy face and heading to the mall with friends. We can do this within this space and within this place because sadness does need its own time and location. But we don't remain there. We don't feel comfortable there. We long to get out of that.

In some ways, contentment and complacency are worse enemies than grief. In some ways it feels OK to be NOT OK with this. My kids will have many a time they cry on our laps. I hope they don't get too big for that too soon. There will be some times we can fix it and sometimes we cannot. Maybe Tisha b'Av is the day we sit on G-d's lap and cry. Some years He might have a bandaid, a DIY manual, a useful anecdote from history, a tutor or an ice cream cone. This year He gave us the proverbial $25 because it will get better, it has to, but not right now. Not just yet. And maybe those 3 weeks are about longing more than sadness. To me, sadness feels stagnant. Like giving in and giving up. Longing feels like trudging through it because for rainy days, there are rubber boots and umbrellas. For minor boo boos there are topical ointments and Paw Patrol bandaids. For high school breakups there are RomComs and wavy BBQ potato chips. And for everything else...there's $25.

Keep Playing!

Photo Friday: Pedagogy, Play and Pooling Your Passion

I came across this quote by Dr. Stuart Brown-- a powerful voice behind the power of play--this morning and it provided one of those rare pre-coffee life affirming moments. It's the second week into the school year. Y has started preschool, three half days a week. S has begun full day kindergarten at our Jewish day school. The boys love school. They come home equal parts enthusiastic and exhausted! And those [not enough] after school hours are the time we have for life's most important work at their age (and arguably also at mine): PLAY. 

When I first began to delve into early childhood education, I would become enamored with particular pedagogues in a way I can only compare to a seventh grade crush. You may or may not find a photo montage of Bev Bos in my locker right now. I would check out every book by Maria Montessori in the entire county library system. I would shift my classrooms from letter a day to handwriting without tears, from wall to wall Waldorf to Reggio real estate only. And now over a decade later, maybe I've become a bit crusty or just a bit more experienced, but there are no pedagogy police hanging out in my home or in my classrooms for that matter. In fact, the Pedagogy Police would probably arrest me on the spot if they saw my Nature Table sitting above a shelf of Montessori style trays just above a shelf of Lego and Duplo toys and Mr. Potato Heads. 

I poked some fun with my sister over the phone that it would be just a matter of time before Y comes home and starts rolling up all our linens like scroll, Montessori style. Lo and behold, the VERY. NEXT. DAY. Y stood at our dry erase easel and Montessori-rolled the rag we have for wiping it clean! I love that his school is Montessori inspired and that one of his two amazing teachers is an accredited Montessori teacher. I also love that he still has time and opportunity for play, for social skill development and for exploring learning in a variety of methods that work for him as an individual. And after spending a year when he was three with an amazingly talented Waldorf trained teacher, I am pleased to report that S has finally begun to draw faces on his pictures of people again! But joking aside, he gained a love for watercolor painting and whimsical fairy tales and nature exploration that he carries with him (along with a needle-felted acorn necklace and copious loose parts collected from the woods) to this day. His classroom this year is full of opportunities to learn through play and I could not be happier to know that his teachers' greatest goal this year is that their young and brilliant minds gain a love for learning. His room is a print rich environment with a visual schedule and Montessori trays for learning how to slice an apple and a kitchen set for playing about Shabbat and a dollhouse and pencils for writing in Primary journals. I am a little bit jealous that his teacher got a Beekeeper Barbie because I really want one, but honestly, I dished out more than I am willing to admit on three Pound Puppies this summer [in original 1980s style packaging, thank you very much).

When it comes to choosing schools and classrooms for my children, I don't have a lot of hard fast rules. I think that children can learn in many ways and adapt to many environments. In fact, I think there is value to stretching just outside of comfort zones and experiencing different styles and personalities. But honestly, what I want the most for my children is that they remain playful and passionate. There are years, G-d willing, for them to sit behind desks and "learn." But for now, just let them play. Let them play. Let them play. There are years, G-d willing, for them to fill the hours between dawn and dusk with clubs, extracurricular activities, talents and study. But for now, let's whisk off to the park, eat dinner to the tune of raindrops pattering on top of the leaves of the oak trees that shield us from getting wet. Let's have a tea party or make stories with puppets and stuffed animals or build a vitamin factory with dollhouse furniture and unit cubes.

When I began teaching, it was all about the pedagogy. And later it became about the passion. For the child who sees wonder in a snail on the sidewalk, the classroom moved outside. For the child who needed to rock a baby doll for hours at a time, the basket was always stocked with plenty of warm blankets because truthfully, he also needed to be rocked for hours at a time. For the child who needed to express herself through art, the shelves were stocked with real oil pastels and real charcoals and chalks. For the child who needed to feel as grown up as her brothers when it was homework time in the evening, there were stacks of intentionally selected worksheets for quietly sticking in her take home folder so she, too, could sit at the family table. Some students left my classrooms writing their names and some were still working on holding a pencil. Some students could read some words and others were still working on moving around the room so they could build the muscles necessary for sitting and hearing a story read to them. But I hope that all my students left my room feeling that their passion was seen, honored and understood. And that, too, is my greatest hope for my children as they embark on this year of learning ahead. I'll just be here fertilizing my brain...

Happy Playing!

Photo Friday: Everything I Know About Life I Learned From a Sunflower

Everything I Know About Life I Learned From a Sunflower. Well, maybe not everything, but there's a lot to be learned from these glorious creatures of summertime beauty.

Last Photo Friday, I talked about resilience and only moments after publishing the post came the straw that broke the rather forgetful proverbial camel's back. Our apartment complex is under new management and although we've been here for five years and under this particular company for several months, there have been a lot of shifts overhead and the current administration had a new policy about yards and gardens: plants in the front, toys in the back. This would have a great impact on my play garden setup and while I obediently hauled my plants up front and all of our mud kitchen, toys, observation stations and accessories out back, I was feeling incredibly stuck in disappointment. Why was I so attached to our yards being as they were? It's not like they were telling me I couldn't have the stuff at all or forcing us to get rid of it. It just needed to be rearranged. But perhaps designing our play space involved more for me than only creating a space for my children to explore and grow. Perhaps it was a creative reflection also of how I have explored and grown over these years of being a play at home mom. It was almost Shabbos, I was tired and hot (we were having over 90 degree temperatures) and the grand haul of stuff was done. But by the time we finally got to bed, I was still so sad about it I actually cried. Maybe I cried about the loss of my play garden or maybe it was also because I was hot and tired and had a cold and it had been a long day, a long week, a long month or two. And maybe resilience isn't the absence of feeling sad or defeated, but rather what you do in the face of sadness and defeat.

The next day was equally hot and long, but it was Shabbos. A day at home with family. And do you know what? The boys loved the new setup. They love having the mud kitchen and the sandbox and toys for digging and building and collecting and exploring and observing and recording and riding and watering all in one space. The grown ups kind of like it, too. And the plants mostly being in one place (our raised bed is still in the back growing pizza toppings!) makes that watering job a little easier, too. Sometimes a change of perspective also goes a long way. And meanwhile, in the front yard, a second bloom had opened on the one sunflower I didn't plant. I don't actually know how it got there, but there it grows, either with the help of my junior gardeners, a critter or the wind.

Plants are amazing! This one stalk has two flowers blooming in two different colors! And meanwhile, in the back where I did plant sunflowers, all three survivors stand [mostly] tall (aside from the one that sprouted behind where the mud kitchen used to be, grew across the ground behind the other two to claim its own space in the sun, albeit several feet below its brethren). Even the mammoth stalk that had toppled from the winds of the storm just nights before was standing tall again, supported by a stake and some twine and once again facing the sun.

So what can we learn from sunflowers?

Stand Tall and Carry a Big Stalk: It doesn't matter if someone planted you on purpose or not. It doesn't matter if you're the tallest of the bunch or if you needed to find your own space and time to reach for the sky. Take up space because you deserve to be here.

Laws of Attraction: Sunflowers have an incredible ability to face the sun. Even after the wind and rain and being bent and nearly broken. Even after sprouting in the dark with no room to bloom. They find their space and they turn their face to the sun. If they didn't, they wouldn't survive. Turn your face to what it is you need to thrive. And even if you find yourself in the dark or bent or a little bit broken, find the strength to look up and survive.

Life Will Bend You, But Don't Let It Break You: The pressure of the rain, a burst of hail, a sudden gust of wind, an unexpected set of toddler feet or maybe even the weight of your own massive growth might bend you, but you needn't let it break you. Allow yourself to bend and move with it, not against it. Life is heavy but don't let it weigh you down.

Have a Cheerful, Sunny Disposition: Everybody loves a sunflower. The bees do. The birds do. The aphids do. The butterflies do. The people do. Have a cheerful, sunny disposition and you simply can't go wrong.

There Might Be Giants: Sunflowers come in all shades and sizes. I love them all. Tall, giant, red, gold, yellow, bent, crooked. I always plant a few of the mammoth variety because there is something quite whimsical about gazing up at a flower taller than I am (and no, that doesn't take much), but that cheerful, sunny disposition comes in all sizes, shapes and colors. They are equally lovable and so, too, are we equally lovable in all sizes, shapes and colors.

Give Back a Thousandfold: Two years ago I spent $3 on a pack of mammoth sunflower seeds. Maybe there were 25 seeds in that pack. I got two mammoth flowers last year and thousands of seeds to feed the critters that graced our garden, to pluck and explore with S and Y, to dry and save for the long winter, to share and spread this spring and plant and grow this summer. You may start off from very little in life and grow in a modest space but don't let that stop you from giving back a thousandfold. There is nothing like the level of gratitude a single flower expresses in the gift of sharing thousands of seeds. Perhaps it is that gratitude that allows it to stand tall and carry a big stalk, to face the light in the midst of darkness, to maintain its grounding against the rage of the storm, to keep smiling and shining and growing.

Life is full of lessons you asked to learn and some you didn't plan to. I love when they are learned in the garden, even if that involves begrudgingly hauling bits and pieces across the lawn and through a mud-strewn living room in temperatures above 90 degrees with a cold because sometimes you have to tear down to rebuild. A sunflower's final gift is given to the earth and to curious little hands and to hungry little mouths only at the very end of its blooming. Just as it begins to shed its petals and droop its heavy head and wither and brown, hundreds and thousands of life-bearing seeds are emptied from the flower's center. Some for snacking. Some for saving. Some for sharing. Some for planting. Some for growing and starting again and the cycle continues on.

Happy Friday! And, as always, happy playing!

Photo Friday: Smile, You're On Candid Camera

"Smile, you're on candid camera!" My husband tells the story that when he was a little boy, he would say this to his mother whenever she was sad in order to cheer her up. We are, however, the least photogenic family you may ever meet. I can take a "candid" shot of my kids, but from the time of their first ultrasounds until now, it is nearly impossible to get everyone (let alone anyone) to pose for a photo. Nonetheless, I usually make at least a few unsolicited photo posts on Facebook each week for my family and friends' non-requested viewing pleasure.
One of my most recent Facebook Photo Dumps was on Wednesday of this week. It was a busy day! We harvested some tomatoes in the garden and the boys had a picnic snack out back, helped me weed the garden and deposited their collection into our composter. That afternoon, I ran our nature based playgroup meet up. If you saw my Facebook wall, you saw cheery red tomatoes, children having a pretend tea party in the sprinkler park, making wooden peg doll fairies and magic wands. Most of my posts are chipper and cheery like this. If you're keen on details, you might notice a basket of unfolded laundry photo bombing the background or that my kids' faces are covered in ketchup or mud... But most of the time, I keep it Kodak worthy, non-posing candid expressions and all.

Not pictured on my Facebook wall on Wednesday was my other project of the day, creatively redecorating the front fender of our car on my way to an appointment. Yes, we have a great Auto-mechanic Dramatic Play theme happening here, no, I did not intend to bring the fun and learning quite that close to home. Indeed, my little incident happened right around the corner from our home. In fact, just the day before, I'd been thinking to myself that after some circumstances this summer of seemingly bad mazal, I have never been in a car accident as a driver. "Probably if that's going to happen, it will be this summer," I thought to myself. Or the next day? I should think a little less. Or at least more positively. Here, let's try it again: "Probably if I'm going to win the lottery without buying a ticket, it will be this summer."  From my lips to G-d's ears!

So as soon as I safely pulled over to the shoulder of the road, I mentally crossed that one off my Bucket List, called my husband and called the police. Thank G-d, no one was injured, no report needed to be filed, just an exchange of information for insurance. My drivers' license is unscathed, my passenger seat license to give a running monologue of unsolicited feedback to my husband about his driving including remarks about his own driving record may have a few points against it now. Nonetheless, he's been only kind and supportive.

When the officer showed up, he looked incredibly familiar. Why? Because I have a huge 5x7 photo of this guy in my living room. Why? Because it is one of the only photos in existence where S is smiling and striking a pose. This guy visits our preschool every year during Community Helpers Week and teaches our children about being a police officer and how to stay safe.

"Hello Living Room Cop" I said as I rolled down the passenger window. Just kidding! Honestly, I was on my best behavior because it happens to be that my car looks and smells like something dead might be hidden in the trunk and I haven't actually looked in there to be sure. My husband says it's his gym clothes, but it's honestly so bad in there, I intentionally drive it to the gym as opposed to our van because I know that if I look my purse inside and park next to a Porsche, no one will try to break in while I'm working out. 

So as I retrieved my registration and insurance info from the only clean and tidy portion of my car, the glove compartment, I also retrieved a small bit of advice given to me early in my marriage from a good friend:

"The word gynecologist makes people uncomfortable; always say OB."

Yes folks, I was on my way to a check up with my OB, looking forward to a morning of drinking coffee alone, laying back and putting my feet up. And yes, folks, I used the g word with Living Room Cop.

"Thank you so much, sir." I said as Living Room Cop handed back my license and registration. I was supposed to be at the gynecologist now and I'm not sure which is worse, but I think I like you better."

And that, ladies and gents, is how you very quickly wrap up a simple exchange of insurance information in a minor car accident. It is also how you make a grown man turn the color of a tomato. Say it with me now: gynecologist. Gynecologist. 

But this is not really a post about my photography skillz, my medical vocabulary or even my creative exterior auto design projects. It is actually a post about resilience. As mentioned above, we've had some circumstances in the last several weeks that I had thought of as bad mazal. Prior to having children, the feeling of being down on my luck might have been enough to knock me off the horse once and keep me there. Not now. In fact, with kids, when you're knocked off the horse, it's not only imperative that you get back on right away, it's also imperative that you ride said horse to the library for Story Time and then to the park and sprinkler playground to run your nature based playgroup. If you happen to damage one of your horses in the course of a day, you also need to get back on that horse and safely park it until an insurance claim can be filled and repairs can be made. You will feel immensely grateful and lucky to have a second horse in these instances. And the truth is, those feelings of immense luck and gratitude are far more helpful than the ones that tell you this is probably the summer you're going to fall of the horse for the first time!

Why is resilience so important? It's not just an act of "keeping it together for the kids." It's a genuine state of seeing the silver lining and grasping it with all your might while simultaneously letting go of all that other "stuff." Children perceive so much. As a little boy, my husband could perceive that his mother was sad at times and even if he didn't know why, he already knew that the best antidote was to turn that frown upside down and smile. So we've had some snafus here and there and thank G-d, they have always resolved and settled. We've also had a lot of fun this summer. And a lot of smiles (some even caught on camera, quite by accident). We might look back on this summer one day and remember it as the one that could play back like a bad country song or we might look back and remember it as the first one we spent as a family of five. The first one we stayed up late enough to see July 4th fireworks. The first one where my kids would see all 5 of their grandparents. The one where we went to the zoo on a Tuesday. The one where we got free Slurpees on 7/11. The one where we went to two different libraries in one day. The one where Mommy got to talk to Living Room Cop right from the passenger seat window. Yup, this summer is going to be epic. I'm not down on my luck, I'm high on my horse.

There's a popular Yiddish saying: tracht gut vet zein gut, think good and it will be good. It's important to travel light when it comes to negative thinking; you need all the room you can spare for the good stuff. We'll be back with more of that good stuff soon and until then...

Happy Playing!

Photo Friday: TANSTAFL

There ain't no such thing as free lunch. Actually, I beg to differ. If you knew me during my college days, I could be found attending a variety of campus symposiums, lectures, workshops and special events purely for the purpose of receiving a free lunch. It is also how I happened to learn about topics I never knew interested me, like mindfulness, Buddhist ashrams, kundalini yoga, study habits and the human brain, anger management, biofeedback...

Yes, in my college days, I spent a good deal of time (and effort) thinking about my next meal. And once I got married, those thoughts extended to thinking about my husband's next meal. The first Shabbos we spent at home as a married couple I made about 15 kugels and a cholent big enough to feed an army. The leftover cholent actually took up coveted space in our deep freezer for the next six months. I don't even like cholent and I have not made it since; that's my husband's job!

And once I had my first child, my thoughts about food extended (bordered on obsession) toward feeding that chubby cheeked little baby. Breastfeeding was my priority and while I had gone into that journey knowing it would be hard, I had not intuited how hard it would be. How the very act of striving to feed this tiny human could be at once so empowering and dis-empowering. How every other hour I was full to the point of engorgement with nourishment, confidence and doubt. And then came the pumping. I was planning to go back to work and S would be 5 weeks old. But no matter how much time, effort, begging, bargaining and denial I put in with that sucker (pun intended), I was not producing anything worth writing home about in those bottles. I contacted my lactation consultant again (and again) to no avail. "Just do it" she would say, Nike commercial style. And the night before my first day I had a whopping 3 oz bottle that took two weeks  of pumping multiple times a day to fill. I called the pediatrician. We were told to supplement with formula and when I contacted the aforementioned lactation consultant about this, we had a messy 7th grade style over the phone break up. I cried and cried and cried and went to work with puffy eyes leaving behind a tiny baby who ate and grew nonetheless. And continued to breastfeed until after the age of two, when (ironically during National Breastfeeding Week) he self weaned. Three weeks before I finished work for the year, I realized my pump was defective. It wasn't me. It wasn't something I could "Just do it" through. I'd been pumping every single day for nearly a year on a broken device.
With Y, I embarked on my second breastfeeding journey. I had such an oversupply at first that he couldn't latch. I called in the troops--a new lactation consultant, this time going in with a bit of precaution to avoid any messy emotional breakups. Things went much better on that end, but I had to pump again (on a new device) to decrease supply. And the freezer stash was growing to the point of overflow with Pesach drawing near. I made some calls and was connected through lactation consultants to another mother with a baby about the same age with chronic low supply and a thyroid condition. Her son refused to take formula and she was down to her last ounce of donated milk, literally praying and crying something would come through. And it did--a whopping stash of my freezer overstock. After that, thank G-d, my supply stabilized and Y continued to breastfeed until (doubly ironically during National Breastfeeding Week) he self weaned at about 16 months.

And then came little C, so little in fact that she could not yet coordinate sucking and swallowing so efficiently. And pair that with a low supply this time, another pump and another visit with the lactation consultant. But by this go around, when we had to supplement with formula and expressed milk bottles, I didn't care so much. I just want to feed my kid; it doesn't matter what it takes and how that has to happen. And no, it's not always easy. I hate pumping. I am a couch prisoner right now, nursing on the hour throughout the morning, supplementing with bottles through the afternoons and evening and, thank G-d, getting a lot of night help from my husband. By next month, she may be able to exclusively breastfeed. She may not. And I am reminded of one thing I learned so well in college (even with my unique talent for scoping out well catered campus events): There ain't no such thing as free lunch.

In other words, the beginning is just that; the beginning. The battles over mealtime don't go away, they just evolve. In the photo above, you can see my two fully weaned sons' eating habits in a nutshell, or rather, atop a pizza crust. There is Boy Who Eats Only Cheese and Dough and Boy Who Eats Just About Everything. S knows what he likes and likes what he knows. He won't touch a chicken nugget with a ten foot pole, but he will drink green kombucha with chia seeds floating in it. The only thing Y likes more than his food is your food. And the only thing he likes even more than that is covering it with a hefty portion of ketchup.

So as I sit here, prisoner to my couch, with a football hold on C that has given me the confidence not only to get through this season of our lives but also to potentially join the NFL, I give a shout out to all the parents feeding tiny humans out there. At all stages, ages and in all possible ways--TANSTAFL but here's some food for thought: we're all just thinking about our next meal. On my wedding day, I wasn't thinking about whether I was bottle fed or breastfed. I was thinking about the fact that I'd put a lot of thought and planning into the catering and while I got up from my seat, the overly efficient caterers had whisked away my unfinished dinner plate. When I was in labor with all three of my children, I was not thinking about how many fights I'd had with my parents as a "picky eater" growing up. I was thinking about how my current level of starvation must be why other mammals eat their young and what I wanted to eat once this baby was out of me. And if you think I was hungry through pregnancy, labor and delivery, no one knows hunger like the kind when you're feeding a tiny nursling around the clock. I've eaten granola chunks, jello, even yogurt off my babies' heads (no crumb left behind) while breastfeeding. So if this meal isn't the one, there's always next meal. We've all bitten off more than we can chew at one point or another, but when it comes to feeding the tiny humans in your life, whatever it takes to do it (and please know that I once attended a Thanksgiving meal at the home of two pediatrician parents who got their children to try turkey by allowing them to act like cats and crawl under the table, meowing while being hand-fed chunks of the new food)--YOU'VE GOT THIS!

Bon Appetit & Happy Playing!

Photo Friday: I Run a Nature-Based Playgroup and I Did Not (and Still Do Not) Always Enjoy Being Outdoors

If you've read a post or two here or know me personally, you can see that getting outside, especially with children, is something I greatly value. What you may not see or know is that I did not always love being outdoors and I still don't.

I created the artwork in the photo above after receiving an assignment in a 4 week course on becoming a natural teacher. The instructions were to use magazine clippings, words and pictures/photos to illustrate your vision, goals and inspiration for being an outdoor educator. As you can see, I followed the directions to a T. But honestly, I had a hard time even beginning. I even got S and Y on the job with a huge piece of paper, crayons and old gardening magazines, recycled seed catalogs, scissors and glue. Turns out, your kids can do your homework but it's still their work at the end of the day and not yours. And then, I suddenly (and finally) had a vision for my Vision Board. It's a simple statement that encompasses all that I do and am striving for, not to mention nature's loose parts, beads, glue, dried lavender buds and copious amounts of glitter... I plan to have my husband help me hang it above the door heading out to our back garden (#shortpeopleproblems) so I will see it every time I'm in the kitchen.

One of the things I frequently hear from parents in my playgroup, fellow friends and educators and even other parents I don't know personally is that they do not like to be outside. Some would even describe it as an aversion. I've taught in classrooms where teachers preferred to stay indoors with a child who needed extra assistance or to remain inside for some reason rather than come out with the class. And when it comes to running a nature based playgroup that meets in parks, I have heard plenty of temperature, climate and environmentally related complaints--yet, again and again, these families show up with their children. (It should be noted as well that I, too, have been "too cold," "too hot," uncomfortable from "too much wind" or "too many bugs..."). Why do we do it? Why do we get those kids to the park again and again? Because somewhere, beneath the layers of outwear and discomforts, we know that this is important. Whether it's the dose of Vitamin D, the fresh air, the space for our kids to run off steam, the peer pressure, the media pressure, or maybe some deep seeded memory of being four ourselves and running through a field of grass and blooming lilac bushes in a perpetual state of wonder, we are drawn again and again to the great outdoors.

I spent a lot of time playing outside as a child. We were a toss-em-out-into-the-backyard kind of family. I made mud pies and salads, I ate chives by the handful and smelled like an onion for the first 8 years of my life. I got bug bites and splinters and impetigo and skinned my knees and once I even fell in a tree with a branch caught precariously between my legs. I am not athletic. I didn't ride a bike without training wheels until I was 8. My dad taught me in what I'd describe as one of the best days of my life. The first time I went camping I was in the 4th grade and went on a weekend trip with the Girl Scout troop I was in.  I missed my mommy. There was a rat in the outhouse. Did I mention I ate something that didn't agree with me and spent a lot of time in the outhouse? I kept a stiff upper lip, but the lower one may have gone a bit wobbly here and there. I attended an incredible outdoor day camp each summer in the Heldeberg mountains in upstate NY. I remember loving it. My friend remembers me complaining a lot. You say tomato, I say tomahto....

At some point, a great deal of my outdoor life was commuter based. Getting from the door to the car. Getting from the car to the door. It wasn't until college that I began to take up and try out hiking, biking, all-season camping, snow shoeing, even skiing (which I HATED), hunting (equally unsuccessful), jet skiing (that was fun), canoeing (not as fun), and a bit of gardening here and there. Here's what you should know: I love that I did all of this. I did not always love it when I was doing it.

I'm the kind of gal who would talk your ear off about how much I wanted to go camping. Then I'd buy a tent and pitch it in my living room and microwave a s'more. Then, I'd finally go camping and the first time I tried to pee in the woods, I'd miss just a little. Your flashlight got a little wet in the process but I dried it. My clothes didn't fare as well. Once we got home, I'd go back to talking your ear off about how much I love camping, but the reality is that I loved the idea of it. I loved the accomplishment of sticking it out. I never loved the actual act of it and I don't know that I was ever truly present in it.

I also loved hiking. I lived for 5 years within walking distance of a great lakeside hill with a 2-3 mile trail. I hiked it frequently and became comfortable and confident enough to love it. I learned to like things outdoors if I could repeat them enough to become comfortable and confident. Familiarity is my security. But novel hikes were always a challenge. Similar to camping, they were events I looked forward to and glorified, complained about while I was there and then raved about after I got home.

The first Pesach after S was born, we went and stayed by friends of mine from my college years. During Chol Hamoed (the interim days of the holiday) the family invited us to go on a little nature walk. It would be stroller friendly, we'd take the kids and a few snacks and some water. They looked up the location on an app on their phones.

Ok, so as it turns out it wasn't stroller friendly. It was not a little nature walk ona trail; it was a freakin' mountain. Here I am in my leather boots (great hiking shoes), a skirt (cuz you can do it in a skirt), wearing a baby (cuz you can do it wearing a baby) and my sheitel (wig--because why hike in only one set of hair when you can hike in two?) and below is a photo of what we actually did on our little nature walk...

Never. Ever. Again. I'm so glad I did it. I climbed a freaking mounting in a skirt, wearing a leather boots and a baby and a sheitel and I am never ever doing this again. I brought home a sense of accomplishment. My husband brought home Lyme Disease. Never. Ever. Again.

But what if on a daily basis, you don't enjoy being outside? What if you are averse to it altogether? I love to garden and I love seeing my kids play and I even feel playful with them out there. But I don't like bugs so much (I try to fake it till I make it). I was supposedly severely allergic to bee stings as a kid and I'm still afraid of bees. I plant a pollinator's garden every spring. I dress like the photo above year round. Minus the leather boots, sometimes with a hat or scarf and not a sheitel. Are you hot in the summer? So am I. I hunch my shoulders up to my ears whenever it's raining because for some reason I think this will make me stay dryer or warmer or something like that. And even though I have a garden and sometimes in spite of me having it stuff actually grows, I'm not very good at it. I am better at keeping humans alive, watered and fed.

And then I wonder. I wonder back to those early days of being happily tossed out in the yard and the years that followed when I walked two feet with my shoulders up to my ears between the car and the front door, cursing under my breath because it was raining. What happened? I don't remember. But when I watch my boys outside, grinning from ear to ear, eating freshly picked strawberries, falling down and skinning their knees, making mud pies, catching raindrops on their tongues, hoarding sticks and interesting rocks and picking wildflowers from the side of the road--I don't want their shoulders to go up to their ears when it rains. I don't want them to forget why they stopped liking to play outside because I don't want them to forget why they liked it in the first place.

And here's how I tackle my own aversion to being out there... I don't know if these ideas work for everyone or if they will work for you, but it works for me:

• What's your WHY: I have mine, what is yours? Why is it important to you to get outside? If it is for your children and or students, I commend you. I also encourage you to find a why for yourself as well.
• What do you love? What is something you love to do? Are you a knitter or crocheter? Do you love coffee? Do you enjoy reading? Are there things you love to do indoors you could bring outside with you?
• Find something out there that draws you in: If it's flowers, a garden, listening to the birds, an interesting tree stump, a particular park or spot--find something that draws you in again and again and seek it--again and again. If you can, bring a bit of it in with you, whether it's cut flowers in a vase, a photo of a sacred space, a smooth rock, a particular shell...
• Make the space a reflection of you: If you have a yard or outdoor space, treat it as you would your bedroom or living room. Make it a reflection of you. Have things out there that you love, that inspire you to return, that bring you joy.
• Check in, not out: One thing I struggled with often both as a teacher and parent was my tendency to see outdoor time as one to check out. Rather than being engaged with the act of being outside, I was engaged with prep work for my class or catching up with correspondence at home. I'm not saying never to use outdoor time for these purposes, but rather to try and set some time to intentionally be with yourself outside. To notice and observe the experiences of being there without judging them--even if it includes some feelings of discomfort. And even if it does include feelings of discomfort, also notice other elements--sounds you hear, sounds you don't hear, smells the remind you of something in your childhood but you're not sure what, a bird splashing in a puddle, a cloud shaped like a T-Rex... 
• Go with a friend: Like company? Bring some! 
• Go alone: Like solitude? Take some.
• Have a mission and/or destination: if "just going outside" is not your favorite, make it part of a larger mission or destination. Go outside, and... Choose an activity you love to do out there (even if it's not an "outdoor activity") or choose a destination at the end (a favorite coffee shop or boutique). There's nothing wrong with coupling a less preferred activity with a little reward. And if you can make the brain connection between being outside and reaching that reward, you can spark some of those neural connections to develop into muscle memory; you may find you need less of that reward to feel the good feelings of being outside. And, coming from true experience, it's OK if some of the time--and even all of the time--those good feelings of being outside don't come until you're back indoors!

Happy Friday and Happy Playing!

Photo Friday: B"H, The Kids Are OK--And Other Lessons I Accidentally Learned as a FTG (First Time Gardener)

Today's post is a little bit different than my usual play activities with kids. Today, I'm welcoming you for a tour of my garden and how it drove me [a surprisingly short distance] absolutely crazy this summer...

The character Cliff Clavin from Cheers' once said "There's a fine line between gardening and madness." This spring after two summers of biting off more than I could chew in an attempt to bestow a love of gardening and green thumbs onto my children, I announced to my husband that I would only plant one or two things this year. Our first season here, I went bonkers with seeds and by the end of it, we had a decent harvest of cherry tomatoes, radishes, lettuce, peppers, beans and peas. But it was hot and miserable and after a while, I lost my gusto for gardening altogether. The remaining tomatoes went to seed surprising us with a forest of those little red buggers the next year. And the lettuce that bolted also made a reappearance early the next spring, when again, I went a little bit bonkers planting seeds only to give up as soon as I got too hot to schlep buckets of water outside. We have no hose hook-up and southern summers are hot and often dry.

I am a big believer in outdoor play and fresh Vitamin D, but I'm also realistic that no matter how much time and effort I put into setting up our play garden and growing my Nature-based Playgroup, there usually comes a point in the summer season at which I become a recluse and return to the comfort of my air conditioned home. So when I said I was only going to plant maybe one or two things this year, I meant it. Even as I left the hardware shop with five packets of vegetable seeds, I still meant it. And when I brought our double stroller with Y fast asleep and an empty seat plus two cup holders and the bottom basket reserved for starter plants and herbs at our Botanical Gardens annual Spring Plant Sale, I still meant it.

Those "one or two" seedlings started off really well...starter plants were a wise investment, because those gave me some instant gratification, and who doesn't like to gain an early harvest? But a week of torrential downpours and intense storms found our kitchen turning into a Displaced Plant Refugee Camp. I started waking up in the middle of the night worrying about my plants and that's when I realized a few things:

• Thank G-d, the kids are OK! If all I'm worrying about in the middle of the night is my garden, life is pretty good. I've finally surpassed the awkward years of FTM (First Time Mom) and transitioned into a FTG (First Time Gardener).

• I think I might have miscalculated when I said one or two things, but math was never my strongest subject...

and

• I think I like gardening!

but, I also think that maybe, just maybe, I've begun to step over that fine line between gardening and madness. And here's a few ways you can tell if, perhaps, you have, too:

• Thinning beets was as emotional a milestone as my son's upshernish. The only difference is that I ate the micro-greens....

• Radishes are super easy to grow and provide a harvest in just a matter of weeks. Unless you are me, and then, somehow, you are on your fourth attempt to grow anything but radish greens this summer...

• I ugly cried over a sunflower and a watermelon plant. Yeah, you read that right. I cried for like 45 minutes on July 4th because a certain member of our family who was very excited about some new gardening tools over-zealously trampled over our tallest sunflower and his beloved watermelon plant. Ever the optimist, he released the following statement: "But Mommy, watermelon plants are supposed to be floppy; they're vines!" 

Yes, little man, they are vines and vines are floppy. But even vines are supposed to remain attached to their roots...

• You may have crossed the line when you want to bring your container garden with you on vacation. Mobility is one of the great luxuries of growing an edible garden in containers, right? So is it so weird that I wanted maybe just to bring one or two of my favorite plants along on a road trip to New York City? Would it have been so odd to ask my garden sitter for just a photo or two or 459 of how my babies, I mean, plants were doing? Maybe we should just invest in a simple webcam system to, you know, keep an eye on things. I pulled one aphid off the squash plants before we left. One aphid. He could be calling 62 of his very best friends over for a dinner party as we speak....

• Less than an hour before Shabbos is the perfect time to tend to garden emergencies. So we got home from our road trip and after 10 hours in the car, with less than an hour until Shabbos, I saw our next tallest sunflower had flopped to the side while we were away. Yes, this was an emergency situation. No, the garden shop was not open this late. Yes, I was willing to forgo a shower and even meals for the next two days (thank you, amazing husband who already did most of the cooking in advance and Instant Pot for the fresh chicken soup). Now, what to use to stake up my sunflowers? Knitting needles and twine, of course! "Knot" bad, huh?

• Everyone worries about fertility sometimes. Some of us even obsess a little, and that's normal. Stepping outside at 7AM even before your morning coffee with a watercolor brush in hand to pollinate your yellow squash, mini pumpkin and mixed gourd flowers is also normal. Hand pollinating all male flowers is not normal. And also not effective. The good news is that the ladies have arrived! And so, too, have the actual [wiser] pollinators...

• You're going to Google things you never imagined you would Google. Weird things like "why are my pumpkin flowers all boys?" and "will my strawberry plant have more berries this summer?" and "why don't I have any radishes?" and "is it bad to release ladybugs not hatched in an insectory?" and "is there any way to put a broken watermelon plant back together?" (Incidentally, no, there is no way to put a broken watermelon plant back together...)

• "Maybe you're going about it the wrong way" my husband posited as I confessed my level of worry and concern over the garden one night. So and so already had cucumbers and tomatoes and zucchini and our cucumber died, our tomatoes were green and our squash flowers were having a hard time finding a shidduch. The apartment down the hill had sunflowers all the way up to their second story windows already in bloom and my two foot tall stalk was being held up by bamboo knitting needles and twine... And if radishes are so easy to grow, why have we had three cops of radish tops this year?? Maybe the soil was too wet. Maybe it's root rot. Maybe the greenhouse is too hot. Maybe I should have thinned them sooner. Maybe I would just plant seeds one more time and do NOTHING AT ALL. Famous. Last. Words. What Jewish mother does nothing at all? I can't very well water the chives right next to them and not give them anything! 

But my husband may have been right this time. Oy. He's going to read this and know that I said that. I hope it doesn't go to his head. Enjoying gardening should be, well, enjoyable. And it is! I love my morning inventory walk. I love seeing my kids out there--the human ones, too. I love the irony of pulling a suddenly dead succulent out of our Please Touch the Plants Garden only to discover that the succulent right next to it had a little baby! Kind of makes you want to start belting out "The Circle of Life," but after three days of painting pollen over my all-male flowers, I should probably lay low out back in case the neighbors are watching...

And gardens are a circle of life. Or a square. Or a massive blob in all directions... I planted these seeds to show my children a place where things can grow and flourish and inspire awe. Where G-d's miracles are visually present. Where it's OK to do everything right and still fail. Where it's also OK to do nothing at all and still succeed. Like so many aspects of life, gardening gives us the illusion that we are in control. That plants need us to grow and thrive and in reality, they don't. Ever seen a weed? And it's nice to feel in control. It's nice to feel needed. It comes with a burden but it also gives back, each and every time I carry in the latest harvest. And sure, I wonder why my peppers are so small or if I should have left that tomato on the vine a few more days or if I missed the boat with those radishes this year. 

But I also am amazed that a zinnia I cut and put in water over three weeks ago is still fresh and bright whereas store bought flowers wither after just a few days. And I'm biting into arugula that bites back with flavor. And it's kind of a nice break to wake up at 4AM worrying about my beets and carrots instead of S and Y... In a few hours, we will all be awake taking that morning inventory stroll in the garden, marveling at the wonder of it all, watching in amazement and anticipation. This is the stuff that salads and memories are made of and that is why, no matter what, I'll always plant "one or two things" each year!

Photo Friday: Through His Eyes

For your five month birthday, we got you these free NASA approved solar viewing
glasses and a once-in-a-century total eclipse. You're welcome.

No, he did not view the solar eclipse. But yes, this is the first pair in a long line of pairs of glasses this adorable little guy will wear. A couple of months ago we noticed his eyes moved back and forth a lot. I come from a multi-generational line of folks who could do a really cool party trick we called "jiggling our eyeballs." And I'm rather socially awkward parties, so that and wiggling my ears was really all I've got! I will say that my favorite response to this (and a frequent one) is when folks try to mimic my unique talent by vigorously shaking their entire bodies, veins bulging in their foreheads as they gleefully ask "am I doing it? Am I doing it?" No, you're still not doing it... But enough about me and back to this little googly-eyed guy. 

He passed his early vision tests and has been reaching developmental milestones all on target. Nonetheless, by his 4 month check-up, I asked again about it as the nurse ran vitals. Our pediatrician is notoriously less worried than I am. I like that in a pediatrician. This time when he came in, he asked me how life was with a 4 month old, but was totally looking at my son's eyes while I answered. So much so that I could have said "watermelon, dairy farm, masquerade" and he would likely still have continued with "ah hah, yeah, oh yeah..." He made a diagnosis of congenital nystagmus and mentioned the one other patient he has with it. He talked about potential developmental delays and services we'd qualify for, surgeries, genetic testing, invasive imaging, associated disorders and diseases...Then he and the nurse told me how cute my baby is. It almost seemed apologetic at that point--like he's super cute in spite of his googly eyes and everything that may or may not go alongside that. 

I think any parent can relate to the utter panic that sets in when you think something might be wrong with your child's health. First you fear the very worst, G-d forbid. Then when that fear subsides, you fear for the ways his life could be affected--everything from development to learning to how others will perceive him and how he will perceive himself. We are fortunate enough to have a great resource in my stepmother who is a pediatrician and has more than one patient with nystagmus. She quelled quite a few of my fears and so began the couple of weeks of waiting until our first ophthalmology appointment.

I got horrendously lost trying to find the darn place even with my own new glasses on. Y was a total trooper and fell asleep waiting for his eyes to dilate. Then he woke up long enough to open them and have them examined. The verdict at this point is that he is a googly eyed cutie pie who will wear some super cute baby glasses! His nystagmus is a seemingly isolated familial quirk and although he is farsighted, he is big, strong, feisty and, thank G-d, healthy. We aren't doing surgeries at this point or invasive imaging or genetic testing. We are monitoring closely and keeping our eye on it (oh yeah, pun definitely intended). In about a week, we will bring his new glasses home and he will finally get to see how incredibly good-looking I am! (Oy, I hope he still likes me!) 

Maybe Y will inherit the ability to be the life of the party. Or maybe he will need some extra support to see that party at all. But for now, I can stop worrying about it. I guess, I'll have to find something else to worry about. Maybe I'll worry about my worrying again...it's been a while since I've worried about that.

Photo Friday: Ready to Learn and Ready to Teach

I've recently begun a series of posts about how I incorporate aspects of the Montessori Method into our home. One way in which I do this is by setting up opportunities for S to practice practical life skills--skills he would need to carry out common household tasks and activities. One afternoon recently, I decided to set out an early supper for S since he was having a rather late nap and would likely wake up hungry. We were also planning a Make Your Own Pizza Night that evening and I didn't want him to go into it starving. I also thought it would be helpful for him to learn and practice the skill of scooping from a shared serving dish onto his own plate in advance of having to do so onto his own pizza dough.

S loves "real" dishes--the ceramic ones the adults use, and not the usual plastic versions he uses. We always offer him "real" dishes on Shabbos and more and more, I find it nice to set his place with the same dishes we use during family meals. It's an opportunity for him to practice care around these fragile objects and for him to feel more grown up. And so I set a large but reasonable portion of cooked pasta into a white ceramic bowl with a matching ceramic tablespoon for a serving utensil. I set out his plate as well and some cut up cucumbers already on it. Rather than serving several items all at once, I wanted his first opportunity to practice this skill to focus on only one. I was sure he would literally eat this lesson up! And then I woke him from his nap and we came down the stairs and I showed him to his table. Y had also just woken up from his afternoon nap and I needed to change his diaper and feed him as well. I quickly explained to S what the bowl and spoon were for and as I was standing and walking toward the bassinet where Y was, demonstrated how to use it.

As I looked back, I saw S eating from the tablespoon directly from the bowl. I explained again what it was for: that it was a serving bowl and serving spoon--that meant that he was intended to use them to serve himself on his own plate, not to eat directly from it. He was insulted. He wanted to eat from a white spoon and from the bowl. I offered a different spoon. It was of no use. He also needed a diaper change at this point (which probably added to his own frustration and angst). We battled over colors of spoons for a bit before, out of frustration, I set the whole thing aside. I have really been working on not losing my temper with the kids and had an opportunity to practice that now. I took S by the hand and we walked upstairs to simultaneous change our setting and his diaper. Sometimes when I feel stuck, I find leaving the space we are in to be helpful for resetting.

"I'm frustrated!" I said. "We need a do-over! Can we have a do-over?" S was shocked. Usually these exchanges and battles of will end with me taking away a toy or an opportunity and sometimes they also end with me losing my cool. This time, I gathered my wits about me but still was genuine with my emotions. I was frustrated and so was S. It was important for him to know that we can feel frustrated and express it appropriately and have another chance to try again. He was so shocked, in fact, that he calmed down right away from his crying spell and was also ready to try again after changing his diaper. 

I also reflected over the previous scenario to try and figure out where we got off track. And in scanning my memory, I saw it so clearly--how I was so eager in my intention to give over a lesson that I thought S would love but in practice I was rushed and my attention was divided. Discipline often conjures up ideas of punishment or negative consequences when in reality, discipline is the act of teaching. We are our children's first and most important teachers. When I teach in the classroom, my whole space and routine is set up to meet the children where they are at and to ensure that they are ready to learn. I never give lessons from across the room or the playground. I engage with my students at their level and part of that means being physically at their level. The other part of that means making sure that their basic needs for nourishment or using the toilet or adequate rest, etc., are met before beginning a lesson. In parenting, those needs are the same. Additionally, because there is not a 1:30 PM pick up in sight, we need to also address our own needs as parents through self-care. 

In having a diaper that needed to be changed, being hungry, and also still being a bit tired, S did not have all of his needs for learning met prior to beginning our activity. He may not have been adequately ready to learn. Furthermore, I was not ready to teach! My attention was divided between two brothers who both needed diapers and to be fed and I was probably also a bit hungry myself. 

In our Do-Over, I replaced the materials to the table, sat right there with S and demonstrated how to scoop noodles onto the plate. He followed up by scooping them himself--repeatedly until his plate was full of noodles. And, amazingly, he ate them all up! He was hungry! We talked as he ate and as I fed Y about how nice it is to try new activities and that it is OK to not know how to do something the first time. We talked about how even when we get frustrated, it's always OK to stop and ask for a Do-Over. Perfect parenthood does not exist. I strive for Good-enough Parenthood on a daily basis. I see success not only as having carried out my duties as parent and teacher to my children correctly the first time, but rather as how I am able to navigate and bounce back from the times on which I miss the mark a bit. These are the moments in which we all learn and grow. Part of each of those moments is asking ourselves: are our children ready to learn and are we ready to teach?

Photo Friday: Oh, For the Love of Green Tomatoes!

We started out our family garden this year a bit more modestly than last year. I learned, I thought, not to bite off more than I can chew. When it comes to feeding and watering my kids, I'm kind of rocking it...or mostly. I have one kid who is particular about what he eats, but has a decent array of healthy and less healthy foods he does like and regularly consumes. I have another kid who is such a picky eater that to this day he has had only one food source ever--breast-milk. Boy, really puts the other one into perspective, huh? But overall, I'm pretty darn good at feeding and watering my boys. It's a really good thing they make a lot of noise, though, because I fear that if they didn't, they would quickly go the direction of just about any plant I've ever raised. It's not that I do not have a green thumb--I'm a decent gardener. I'm just a forgetful gardener, A procrastinating gardener. A neglectful gardener. But before you call Plant Protective Services on me, please know that although we planted several types of seeds this year that I know grow well in our garden and produce produce my toddler might eat, we still have one thing growing: the tomatoes I planted last year that went to seed.

I am pleased to say that our tomato forest seems to be thriving in spite of me. So a couple of weeks ago as we were enjoying a cooler morning in the play garden, I decided to check out the status of everything else (all DOA, sad to say) and while I was at it, pulled up some weeds. Y was enjoying the fresh air and a nap in his stroller. S was "helping out" using a variety of gardening tools I keep accessible for him to explore with. As I bent over some quite tenacious weeds, pulling up roots by hand and then with the help of a rake, S sidled over and asked "Mommy, what are you doing?" 

I explained to him that I was pulling up weeds. He wanted to know what weeds were. I explained that they are plants that grow all on their own--that you did not plant yourself. The seeds got there either from a bird or a bug or maybe the wind... Some weeds are really pretty, like wildflowers and dandelion puffs that we so love to blow... Some weeds are even useful, like mint, an herb we often use in the kitchen. But some weeds can take up too much space and sun and water in our gardens, and we pull them out so the seeds we did plant have space to grow...

"Mommy, what are you doing?" Oh, the running monologue of a curious toddler. This question comes up again and again.

"Still pulling weeds... What are you doing?" I asked, still bent over, trying to determine whether I was plucking a weed or a displaced carrot...

"I'm pulling weeds, too!" S responded gleefully. 

"Oh, thank you! I sure could use your help!" I responded as I returned to a vertical position, thinking to myself that perpendicular is not my favorite position post-30...and then I saw it. Piles of freshly plucked green cherry tomatoes. S was pulling them, one by one from the vine! My initial instinct was to shout "OH NO! That's the only thing that might actually survive a summer in our garden and make it to our table..." but I didn't. Well, the "OH NO!" part did come out, but I stopped myself there. Technically by my definition, S was pulling up weeds--something growing in our garden that we didn't plant there. I planted two tomato plants last summer. This summer, I have about five or six growing up all on their own. And really, even with the piles of green tomatoes prematurely evicted from the vine, we are in no danger of not having way too many tomatoes to eat in a few more weeks. This was, however, a definite teachable moment. For us both. 

My main "goal" with our garden this year was for it to be a truly hands-on and child-centered experience. I set it up to invite S's curiosity (and sometimes the neighbor kids' as well) but I did not want it to be a space he could only appreciate from afar. I wanted him in the garden, in the mulch and dirt and digging up and discovering worms and bugs. I wanted him coming inside covered from head to toe in dirt from making cupcakes in his mud kitchen just like I did when I was his age. Those were some of my best childhood memories and they are becoming some of his. So I could instill the fear of life in him (or at least the fear of gardening) by scolding him for picking unripe fruits and harming a plant and not asking first... 

But he's three and growing up is a process. It's a process for children and tomatoes alike. If we do our job pretty well, we end up with rosy cheeked ripe tomatoes as a finished product. But kids could care less about the finished product (especially ones who will only lick a tomato). They are entirely focused on the process--and how much more might we also appreciate the fruits of our labor if we could focus a bit more on that process as well. 

So for the moment, we had a pile of green tomatoes--and rather than stew over it (oh yeah, pun definitely intended), we rolled with it. Literally even. We rolled tomatoes back and forth. We looked at the outside of a green tomato and observed that it's a different color than the ones we eat from the store. We talked about how fruits and vegetables change color as they ripen. We felt how firm they still were by gently squeezing. We observed what happens when you squeeze less gently! We brought one inside, at S's request, to wash and cut open. We looked at the seeds. He licked it. He did not like it. He does not like red tomatoes either. Did I mention I never even planted tomatoes this year?

Photo Friday: Stopping to Smell the...Weeds

We just returned from a trip to New York City to visit family and friends and the area of Brooklyn where my husband and I got married almost four years ago. This was our first family vacation with both boys and the first time we made such a long drive with kids. In the city that never sleeps with so many places to see and people to meet up with, it took my hot, tired, and terrified-of-pigeons three year old to remind me that there is always time to stop and smell the weeds! 

We had an amazing, albeit whirlwind trip. S ate ice cream in an ice cream shop every day (something he does not get to do where we live since there are no kosher restaurants, let alone easy access to kosher ice cream). We took the boys to the Jewish Children's Museum in Crown Heights. We visited my grandmother in Queens and my own mother came in to visit as well, filling that house with memories and four generations all at once! We spent time with great friends, took in the sights, scenery, a bit of shopping and plenty of tasty food. These are all things I love about the city. And yet, the pace and noise of the city is over the top for me. I drive a stroller like a true New Yorker, but I drive a car like I'm from Virginia (don't worry, my husband drove--I just offered free, unsolicited advice from the passenger seat while simultaneously slamming on an invisible brake and white-knuckling the door handle). 

When you rarely travel, it can often feel like there is so much to do in so little time. And the gift of traveling with little kids is that you are forced to slow down--even if the world is passing by as fast as a New York minute. Kids know nothing about time except how to make the most of it. And that's the most important skill to have. So we had as much fun actively pursuing vacation adventures as we did sitting in traffic and looking at all the construction trucks, subway trains and junk yards. An eight hour drive turns into a 12 hour ordeal with all of us in the car. I even inadvertently taught S some new vocabulary in Staten Island...  S was never quite sure what and where "The York" (as he calls it) was. And while not all of our vacation moments were postcard worthy, I'd like to think they will fill the boys with memories that are!

Hour 2 of the drive...

Hour 10 of the drive...

travel light and keep your cool

he needs a vacation from his vacation

you gotta spin it to win it

Smile, you're in Pennsylvania...