Mother's Day - Chapter 2: The Good Stuff (or, Heartswells)

Saturday Morning, 4 AM:
Asher cries out from his room. It's the "I'm having a nightmare" wail.
I squint at my clock and notice that it's much too early for us to Wake Up.
Asher's continued cries of anguish tell me that, although that may be true, he's not Going Back to Sleep.
I trudge into his room, retrieve the troubled boy. My agenda is to bring him to my bed and hope (against hope) that he snoozes, or at least lays quietly, next to me for at least another hour.

I whisper, "You have to be quiet like a mouse."
He solemnly holds an index finger to his lips and says, "Shhh." Understood.
I slide him into bed, then follow. He rolls toward me. Places chubby hands on my cheeks. Plants a big kiss. Exclaims, "Muah!" Heartswell. We both drift off.

Saturday Morning, 6 AM:
I rouse from sleep. Asher is rousing as well. Seeing my eyes opening, he grins. Heartswell #2.

Saturday Morning, 6:05 AM:
Asher surveys our kitchen. Extends his hands, palm up, elbows drawn in. Looks at me, confused. "Cake?"
So, off to the grocery we go.
To get cake for the boy, and the sacred Cream Filled Chocolate Frosted donut for Ima.
And Starbucks Coffee.
It's Mother's Day Weekend, y'all. We're going to enjoy it.

Saturday Afternoon, 3:00 PM:
Following a delish Shabbat lunch with the Buckeyes, Rami and I head upstairs for our Shabbos Schluffie.
As I am arriving at the edge of sleep, Rami fusses in his crib. Yes. He is unhappy, and just wants to make sure I'm aware of the fact. I can't nap with that in the background.
I trudge over to his crib, retrieve the cranky boy. I slide him into bed, then follow. He inclines his head toward mine, nuzzles his chubby cheek next to my nose. Sighs contentedly, smiles the Rami trademark smile. Heartswell #3.

Saturday Afternoon, 4:15 PM:
I awaken to see this. Heartswell #4.



Sunday morning, 6:30 AM:
David says that, this morning, we will do whatever I want.
I glance outside. The sun is coming out. It carries the promise of a delicious, golden light in about an hour.
I tell him I want to take pictures of the guys. At the wetlands park. Maybe, I will make it into the frame once or twice.
(This means that everyone needs to get gussied up and packed in the car in the next forty-five minutes. With two bleary-eyed, snot-nosed, pajama clad boys, this task is not for the faint of heart.)
David nods, agreeing without pause. Heartswell #5.



(Yes, I did make it into the frame a few times, thanks for asking. But that's for "Mother's Day -Epilogue.")

Sunday, 1:00 PM:
Asher naps. Rami and I wander outside, seeking a distraction as we await the arrival of our Mother's Day Picnic company.
I notice the gorgeous sky above and the lush grass below.
Cloud-watching? Why not?
Rami, who normally kicks, rolls, and yells when placed on the floor,
lets his arms and legs relax when placed in the grass.
He is the picture of serenity. His face is calmly attentive.
I spread out alongside him in the grass, trying to take in whatever his eyes see.
He is so beautiful. Heartswell #6.


Sunday, 1:15 PM:
Our guests arrive. Savta enjoys a moment to greet Rami. Heartswell #7.


Sunday, 2:05 PM:
Despite the gorgeous day, we have the park to ourselves.
Asher relishes in the playground and I recline while eating egg salad on
All Butter Croissants (I cannot emphasize that enough.)
Heartswells #8 &9.



Sunday, 8:45 PM:
David and I relax together over a dinner he made and wine he poured.
He starts to tell me what a wonderful Ima I am.
That he appreciates how much I do for our family.
That I make the best little boys.
I look into his gorgeous chocolate eyes and realize that I am looking into the same eyes that Rami will have, sooner than I can believe. Heartswell #10.
David rubs my feet, and doesn't mind that I'm drifting off to sleep already.

As you can see, the Good Stuff and not the Stuff, is what really made Mother's Day Weekend.
(And yes, I have noticed that pretty much all the Good Stuff involves eating or sleeping.)

Thank you, Mom, Dad, Steve, and Al.
Thank you, boys.
Thank you, David.
(You make the food worth eating and the naps worth taking.)

Mother's Day - Chapter 1: The Stuff

Last year I said all I wanted from Ashi was something he made for me.
I didn't think I meant it.
(Yes, of course I did want something Ashi made, but also:
dozens of roses, diamond earrings, singing telegrams, etc. etc.
Hey, I work hard.)

Then I got that beautiful, perfect card and I was won over.
I seriously didn't need a single extra thing to feel like mother's day had been celebrated.

This year's school-project card yield was only better
for being doubled.




I woke up to flowers and candy
that David planned to use
to get great pictures of the guys:

A book of beautiful photos (from Mom), and
the most vibrant of flowers (from Steve):

and last but most certainly not least,
chocolate-covered goodies (dipped by hand)
and a pound of darkest-roast gourmet coffee (not pictured)
from the adored Auntie Al:


Thank you.

Oh, the haul this year was truly awesome.
It made me feel appreciated by, and precious to,
each member of my family.

(But it was nothing compared to Chapter 2: "The Good Stuff." Stay tuned.)

Mother's Day: Prologue

Women know
The way to rear up children (to be just)
They know a simple, merry, tender knack
Of tying sashes, fitting baby shoes,
And stringing pretty words that make no sense,
And kissing full sense into empty words.

~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A Growing Boy

My baby has started to eat solid food.

He devours the baby-cereal-mush and pureed produce with gusto.
His deliciously-rolled thighs
and rubber-band wrists
excitedly pump back and forth
as the spoon approaches.
His mouth stretches open
in anticipation.
The food goes in,
the boy swallows -
(he allows hardly any to ooze back out,
as the eating novice is wont to do) -
and grins, demonstrating his
absolute delight in this tastiness.

While he revels,
a slight pang of sadness pinches my mostly-happy heart.
The box of baby oatmeal in my pantry
and rubber-covered spoons in my cabinet
mean that my tiny guy is growing up.

Soon he won't need bottles.
Soon he'll be walking.
Soon he'll be able to prepare his own food.
Soon he'll be a young man, no longer my tiny boy.

But then I notice that his eyelashes are encrusted
with the liquid-pasty mixture.
Then I see it in his belly button.
Then I glimpse it smeared between
those delectable toes of his
and I remember
that he's still tiny enough
to laugh as I idly kiss those toes for hours
(as I am wont to do.)

And I think -
maybe I don't have to get quite so sad -
just yet.

Sunset Splash

"Remember to play
after every storm." ~Mattie Stepaneck

Parshah for Parenting: Acharei Mot-Kedoshim 5769

This week's portion includes the instruction
to leave the corners of our fields unharvested
so that the poor in the community may gather them and be fed.
Rashi comments on this instruction
that anyone who fulfills it
is like someone who built the holy Temple
and offered sacrifices therein.

In other words,
doing something to positively affect the world
is equal (or greater) to
being in audience with the Holy One.

These days,
most of us don't have fields
to leave unharvested.
We do, however, have
our homes
our daily work
our families and friendships
our children.

When we use these things
to change the world for the better -
make our personal spaces ones of beauty, comfort, truth,
give some of the income that sustains us to help sustain others
do actions and speak words that show those dear to us how we love them

and raise our children
with the expectation
that they will give more to the world
than they take from it -

it is as though we have built the Temple

and offered sacrifices therein.

Sick weekend

This weekend, three quarters of our little family was hit with a merciless, weekend-ruining stomach bug.

It hit Asher on Friday.
Then Abba on Saturday.
Then Ima on Sunday.

We were all pretty sick.
We're talking laid-up-on-the-couch,
can't-move-a-muscle,
(would-rather-be-in-labor)
kind of sick.

At various moments on Sunday,
one or the other of us
managed to hoist up the camera
so I could document this little adventure for you all.

Asher indulged in an unorthodox, middle-of-the-floor nap:


A lot of time was spent with Sesame Street clips via Abba's laptop:


After that, Asher lounged for hours without pants
but with his favorite shoes (thanks Logie):


As we enjoyed a good long sit outside at dusk on Sunday
(the first time we made it out of the house all weekend)
Asher improved our spirits (and our toes and legs, obviously)
by artfully coating them in watercolors.

The whole time,

I mourned the wasted weekend
tried to keep my achy eyes open

so that I could capture more precious minutes

with my little guys.

I knew I was missing out.

I hated it.

But, reviewing these photos,

I realized -

we were okay.

Naps happened (even if mid-floor,)

boys did not go (completely) naked,

art projects occurred,

time together was had.

Yes, it was a sick weekend,

but a weekend all the same.

We'll just have to make this next one

that much more awesome.

5 months old

Dear Rami,
Today you are five months old.
Every time I kiss your face,
your usually exuberant smile
shifts to one of
quiet, contented delight.
This trait, especially,
endears you to me
more than I can express.
Love,
Ima

{letters}

"You will only expect a few words - what will those be?
When the heart is full it may run over,
but the real fullness stays within.
Words can never tell you -
however, form them, transform them anyway -
how perfectly dear you are to me
perfectly dear to my heart and soul."
~From Robert Browning to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 12 September 1846

On Tuesday nights, I get to lead a dinnertime Jewish text study at Hillel.
(Jewish wisdom studied - and continued - by the brightest of students. Amazing.)
Consequently, my very late arrival at our humble abode
occurs as an endcap to David's very long day,
after Asher's bedtime,
and at the end of Rami's rope.

In our family's division of labor,
I am generally in charge
of the food in our bellies
and the prayers on our lips.

So, in my absence, a Tuesday letter is left
alongside a slow-cooker dinner
to remind the men in my life
that these things have not been forgotten.

The content remains mostly the same week after week:

"Hello my loves -
Asher: I hope you had a fun day. Please do not forget to say your Shema. I love you.
Rami: I hope you had a good day. I will be home soon for snuggles and love. Please be good to Abba in the meantime. I love you.
David: Dinner is in the slow cooker. I love you like coffee in the morning (or alternate similie.)"

These letters are written in a bound book,
page after page repetitive from week to week,
not because the instruction is needed
or because my return is uncertain
or because my love for the guys is unknown to them

but because the letter represents
the part of my heart that waits for them at home
on nights when I do not.

(Check out more letters here.)

Passover 5769: Epilogue

One amazing thing about Passover is that it offers a respite from the daily grind, usually when it is desperately needed.
Two days of that whole "no-work" thing in the middle of two consecutive weeks proved, once again, to be a breath of fresh air.
After a morning where nothing was accomplished except the all important Breakfast and Naptime, the boys and I enjoyed a delicious holiday lunch (made all the more delicious because I didn't have to cook it) with some fabulous Buckeyes, and returned home for a full afternoon of nothing-much-at-all planned.

As I deposited armfuls of stuff just inside the door, my ears were alerted to a suddenly whiny boy.
Asher's arm poked insistently back toward the door. "Osside!"

Outside was wet. And muddy. And chilly. And misting. Did I mention wet?



Hoping to preserve the dignity of my hair and the cleanliness of our floors (both leaving much to be desired in the first place,) I tried to direct Asher toward pursuits of the less-wet-and-muddy variety. "Asher, look! Wouldn't you like to play with your animals? Or your cars?"

A tiny foot was stamped, the level of whine increased, and the arm continued to jab at the door.
"OssIDE! OSS-IDE!!!"

Clearly I suffered some mental deficiency that prevented me from seeing the clear need to be outside.

Or I was just plain mean.

Or profoundly un-fun.

I glanced at Rami, solidly snoozing, despite the ruckus, in his car seat. This didn't help my cause.

Asher's pleading eyes remained fixed on mine.

So, outside we went.

The work involved mostly finding pinecones and throwing them.

Occasionally, the soccer ball was carried and deposited elsewhere.

Then, of course, we had to run up hills and back down again.

Which caused a tumble, which caused dirty hands, which abruptly ended Asher's fun.

Both Ima and boy were now thoroughly sodden and muddied.
A good time was had by all (including Rami, who enjoyed an unusually quiet nap.)

Outside?
Yes, Asher. That was a great idea.

{Rustic}

A few weeks ago,
it was dreary outside.
Inside our house
was a sunny boy
with a bright red balloon.

David decided
to contribute some of our sunshine
to the overcast sky.

Here's the shot.*


_____
*In an effort to share more of my shots of the boys without the requirement of brilliant flashes of inspiration for posts, I'm going to try one of these "photo-challenge-of-the-week" gigs.
If it seems tacky,or annoying, or boring,or altogether uninspired just say so in the comments....(you know I crave your approval.)

Young Celebrity (or at least lookalike)

Rami got his first shoutout in the blogosphere!
(Oh, the milestones we mark in the 21st century.)

Check him (and the fabulous blogger) out here.

On birthdays

{My dad's birthday, circa 1978. He was clearly partying enough for the both of us.}

Today is my birthday.

I love my birthday as much as the next person -
how could you not, with all the good wishes, fun presents, and the cake (oh, the cake!)?

I have learned one surprising thing about birthdays since I became an Ima:

I never anticipated
that one day my birthday
would mean far, far less to me
than the birthdays of my children.

You see, I believe that we are defined by the people that surround us.
On the day that I was born, I became someone. Just someone.

On the day my children were born, however,

I became an Ima.

Someone who feeds and loves and hugs

someone who kisses hurt fingers to make them all better

someone who is sought to quash the scariest of nightmares.

(And this made me realize...)
On the day my siblings were born, I became a sister.
Someone who got to share childhood memories, whispered secrets, and love-piles.

Someone who understands family dramas and jokes alike.

Someone who snuggled under the covers on weekend mornings well into teen-dom.

Someone who is a best friend through thick and thin.

So, while I still love my birthday,
It's not the day on which my heart sings in celebration.
I actually get a lot more excited about my Ima-birthdays and my sister-birthdays.

(So, do you think I could get some cake on those days, too? Did I mention how much I love cake?)
____
What is the greatest lesson you have learned about birthdays?

A Zissen Pesach

In each generation, every individual must look at him or herself as though he or she had personally made the Exodus from Egypt, as it is said,
"You shall tell your children on that day, 'it is because of what Adonai did for me when I went free out of Egypt.'" (from the Passover Haggadah)

In other words,

We are part of a story
but the only reason we must tell it
is for the sake of our children
who will then become part of the story
and then tell it to their children.

Children learn in many different ways.
Our Passover celebrations provide several different methods
for teaching them the story
of the Exodus from Egypt.
One of those is getting rid of all our leavened products for the week.

(If it were not for this beautiful and compelling drash,
there is absolutely no way
I would have been freezing my tuchus off
at the crack of dawn
teaching my 21-month-old
to burn Ritz crackers
on our porch.)

May your Seders be awesome and your Passover sweet.




{also enjoy some more snaps from our Passover preparations this past week}

Parshah for Parenting - Tzav 5769

Well, we're on to the second portion in the book of Leviticus.
Which means writing "Parsha for Parenting" just got a lot more difficult.
You see, the book of Leviticus is all about the sacrifices in the Temple.
It talks all about the sacrifices:
When, Who, Why, How
Even what to wear.

Of course, Jews no longer offer sacrifices at the Temple.
I've heard of precocious children, in preparation for a bar mitzvah around this time of year,
trying to re-enact the ancient Temple rites.

This afternoon I was home alone with two boys and dozens of pounds of meat to freeze.
Rami was characteristically content to remain strapped into his car seat, observing.
In the midst of dividing chicken cutlets and stew beef,
I realized Ashi was sounding busy but quiet...

(Do you think he has Leviticus on the brain?)