Joys and Challenges

Sometimes I forget how old he is. I know I put more weight on his shoulders than the other ones. He definitely has more responsibilities, and I expect more from him...

In the weeks preceding this event, I found myself surprisingly ambivalent. My husband was all for it, as he had never been a staunch supporter of growing it in the first place. The other kids were also excited at the prospect of a party. Me? I wanted to hold on to this cute babyness a little longer...

Do we take enough time to look into our child’s eyes, to touch their hand, to really talk? “In one minute, when I finish this phone call.” “Let me just clean up and I’ll be right with you.” The problem is that “one minute” is never just one minute, and that the one minute might be a minute too late...

I want to treat both my children equally, drawing from the same deep pool of bottomless devotion. But their differences make that impossible . . .

Know that I am proud of each of you. Of your accomplishments and achievements, but more importantly, of who you have become in life. Not what you do, but who you are . . .

Are my children so wrong to ask? Maybe it’s me who is wrong by becoming angry that they ask so much? Am I teaching my child that’s it’s not okay to want, that’s it’s not acceptable to ask? Is that the message that I want to give to them?

I was still in the same pose, clueless to his disappointment. And that’s when it hit me. I had been clueless all along . . .

It’s eight o’clock in the morning. My husband leaves to take the kids to school. I am sitting on the couch nursing our three-week-old baby. Four hours later he returns and finds me in the same spot, doing the same thing. I have barely moved; I have not accomplished anything that I planned to do....

There is no mistaking a kipah, especially to a fellow Jew. Whether real or not, I imagined our parents thinking, “Now they’re forcing their newly religious, fanatical ways on their innocent children, having them show their Judaism in public.”

It would be so easy to frame his smiling self, and pretend that this single shining moment defines him. Perhaps others would choose to dismiss this moment as an anomaly, and embrace the other photo, the one that captures his otherness. Yet these photos are the two sides of my son, and I struggle to embrace both of them, despite their extremes . . .

She’s quirky, but yourself you call strange, weird. You say that she is strong-willed and independent. Yourself you call stubborn. Her creativity you praise, but yours you say gets in the way of getting things done. Honey, you are judging by a double standard . . .

I tell the psychiatrist that in our family we are all a bit weird. She seems taken aback by my openness. Perhaps she does not remember as clearly as I do what it means to be a child...

The days before Mariam leaves are an emotional rollercoaster. "What am I going to tell the kids? They're so attached to her," I think, lying in bed and staring at the moon. "And what about me? I can't handle my family and run my business without her. And yet, in the midst of my panic, I become aware of a part of me that's rejoicing because Mariam is leaving...

Sometimes I look at my living family and feel so filled with love that I could radiate with it, overwhelmed with joy to the point of spilling incoherent tears because these people are just so amazing. But even those heavenly moments of crazy-lady love are so augmented by the constant presence of grief that happiness is now a completely different emotion than it once was...

I would reach out over the edge of the cliff to feel the spray of the waves and to see the moonlight reflected off my fingernails. I closed my palm to grasp the silver rays, but the light was far, far away; it belonged to another world. A world I could not yet reach...

I don’t give into these explosions of emotions. I’ve read the literature to ignore and contain the tantruming child which I’ve tried to follow dutifully. But to my shock, dismay and even guilt that I have not raised her well, they keep on coming...

I wonder if she is comforted knowing that as our relationship evolves Mommy is still here for her. Even though it appears that I’m pushing her away...

It seems like women return to the work force after years at home are altering the workplace, beginning with the advent of a whole new language...

As I picked a little space in the corner, there was a tug on my skirt. Moo's shining, little face was upturned, "Gimme a kiss!" How could I refuse? And then, "Ok, bye Mommy."