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."

I am here with my son, Adin, now seventeen years old. When he was two and a half he choked on a grape, sustaining a severe brain injury as a result of that horrific accident. For twelve years he remained relatively stable, but that all changed two years ago...

When everyone is somewhat quietly engrossed in their food, I return to my room to try to wake myself up, thinking all the while, "It is 5:30 in the morning and I am being treated like a waitress." The rest of the morning doesn't usually go any better...

At the outset, he had an extremely positive outlook and oftentimes said, "However uncomfortable I am right now, it could always be much worse." These self-soothing words were a source of comfort, motivation and positive perspective, all of which served as a real anchor...

the broken vase on the floor is just that, a broken vase—and the spilled milk is easily cleaned up. Women who watch me ask me how I have such patience. The patience comes with perspective...

The internet is an amazing thing. In an instant, mothers from all over the world can connect with each other online. We share interests, tips, stories about our children; we compare ourselves and pick one another apart...

I began to "get it". My son is creating space to put new boundaries, those that will be established around his autonomy, independence and free spirit...

Everyone readily admits that parenting is physically and emotionally demanding. But, intellectually demanding? That's overlooked...

The part about the oxygen masks always gets to me...

We can read, learn, and intellecutalize to refine our mothering methods--but the bottom line is: we don't need to behave like a mother, we need to roll up our sleeves and be a mother.

Now, three boys later, I feel like a pie- everybody wants a piece of me. Well, I am running out of "pieces," as well as my sanity...

People said that, given our disabilities, we'd be irresponsible if we went ahead and had a baby.

"Loser! You are wasting your higher education on changing diapers and wiping runny noses! You are squandering your potential on scrubbing dirty dishes and baking macaroni and cheese casserole!" It's at moments like this that I know that no tape or book or inspiring thought can provide the heavy-duty help I need...

It seems that my daughter is expected to appear in school each day with a ponytail, which is taken as a sign that she has a good mother. And I have foolishly allowed her to choose how she wishes to wear her hair . . .

I see you throwing things with an awesome force when you don't get your way. I see you running to me for protection when our turtle gets too close to your toes. And at the same time, I see you growing up, towering over me...

She asks for what she needs, recognizes what she doesn’t, and appreciates what she has. She never stops moving. Nothing is boring to her; everything has potential . . .

Some things never change. The four seasons. The four directions. The hands on the clock. The rising of the sun and the moonlight in the trees. Mothers are here forever. Their children will always be their children...

If a mom can have the flu, can she also have a broken heart, a quick temper, or an absent-minded nature? Can we raise our children to be a little more whole than we are ourselves?

I hear the muffled volley of voices. First, the high pitched, tiny voice of my little girl; her pleading tone rings out clearly. Then the staccato angry bursts of my teenaged daughter's refusal...

I look at his pajamas, unzipped almost to his belly button. I think of the thousands of parents who, when confronted with this same situation, would end it with a slap. But that is not an option here...

"Call me baby. I'm the baby. Right, Mommy? I'm your baby?" I looked at him and then at his six-month-old sister and my mind started to analyze the situation. My son, the practical one, brought me back to reality...

Why do we focus on the bad and not on the good aspects of motherhood? It is the same reason, I realized later, that we complain about a splinter in our pinky toe rather than give thanks for our whole healthy bodies...

What works for one mother may not work for another, and mothers get themselves into trouble when they try to conform to an overly narrow and constricting definition of what makes a "good" mother.

As a child of divorce whose father was awarded custody, my dad basically raised me. As a result, I felt well prepared to be a father, but not as prepared to be a mother...

Already at age five, I had moved much further beyond my own mother's boundaries than my daughter could ever imagine, and by age eleven, I had broken out of those boundaries entirely...

For the first time I realized, "Elana, this is spending quality time with your child. Instead of seeing it as a struggle and dreadful event, see it as a precious moment and enjoy it...

As they dance breathlessly and tell their stories with tulle and tiaras, I am struck by how free they are in their expression...

It's been two years. Two years of holding my son close to my heart and feeding him from the milk that flowed forth from my body. Two years of sleepless nights and exhausted days...

Burn-out is a wake-up call that we have lost touch with the inner reality and meaning of what we are doing...

My daughter got married a little over a month ago, and for the first time, we are trying to learn a new way to relate. Let me rephrase that. I am trying to learn a new way to relate...

For the first time in my life, there is no visible record of my accomplishments. In fact, when done well, it is impossible to perceive parenting being done at all...

There is no question that American business expects you to be 100% focused on your work. Working from home therefore has its unique challenges, on numerous levels...

There are days in my life when I think, "I am a great Mom. These kids are lucky to have me…I should give classes." And then there are other days...

I remembered back to when Dina was a confident, upbeat, and thriving single woman. In contrast, during our conversation she seemed so tense, so exhausted, so distressed by her frequent power-struggles...

I am disgusted by the things my mother has done. She is old now and needs me, but there is nothing in her life that deserves respect. How can I respect her without losing my dignity?

Through my daughter's persistent and insightful questioning, I was able to move beyond my confusion, and experience my own excitement...

My spiritual mentor drinks heavily, straight from the bottle. Most of his wisdom is culled from the works of Dr. Seuss and of a certain purple dinosaur

I I wouldn’t exactly say I look “cool.” It’s 12:30 in the afternoon and I’m still in my pajamas. I’m carrying my bald headed beauty in utero, which definitely has a certain mystique, but only when I wear maternity clothes, otherwise I just look like I need to do some sit-ups...

Every day we travel down the highway of life. Yet there are times that we are tuned in and the reception is perfect and other times that we are so far away that all we hear is static...

As we sit together, laughing about anything and everything, savoring the meal and reviewing the day's events, I gaze at my children...

It is true that I spend the vast majority of my life in my house and I am a devoted wife. With that said, I am still very far from being the domestic goddess the term "housewife" evokes....

"If you don't eat, you'll die." Lovely expression, and so true. It comes from my grandmother. Isn't it wonderful how platitudes bridge the generation gap? Someday she will use it on her own children. If she doesn't, I will.

My heart is so full. So full that it aches. One day, you will understand it. But not for a little while. Not until you become a parent.

Normally, I’d send her flowers for Mother’s Day, but this year I’m taking the opportunity to write her a letter. I hope she reads it and understands how much I truly value her...

Then it was haircut time. I squeezed my eyes shut, half expecting the same cries I heard at his bris, which seems like it was just yesterday. But when I looked up, he was grinning.

It is those rare times when I can go that extra mile for them, when in times of trouble and distress I can swoop out of the sky and play Supermom-those are the highest, sweetest moments of my mothering life.

When the article continued with “the seven signs that show your child loves you,” I wondered if these basic signs were applicable in our love affair relationship with G-d...

I'm just Mommy. I'm not the most fun. I'm not the most playful. What I am is the most constant...

Don't you dare mistake this three dimensional work of art in progress for a heap of peculiar garbage. You chance to deeply offend its architect...

There he goes again, the Treasure Hunter. Fifteen paces from the door. Turn left. Climb the hill. Gravel crumbles beneath his sneakers, and he slides a bit to the right while searching for a foothold. To my boy, it must seem like a mountain. And yet he climbs . . .

It's the first word a baby learns to speak. It's the kindest word in any language. It's the name of G-d

Rarely do I stop searching for clues to his becoming traditionally orthodox, or a “Torah observing Jew,” as he would say. I struggle to identify the mistakes I made as a mother. Could it be that our crime was living in a predominantly Christian town that holds elections on Saturdays, the Jewish Sabbath?

As filling in this generational sandwich, I am constantly tested as well as blessed. Both my mother and my daughter color my life in different ways...

I'm not normally hyper-emotive over my kids, other than graduations, when I admit I fall to pieces. But the sight of those huge suitcases in his room turned me into one maudlin mom.

In the parallel universe in my mind, I was there with them, looking at pictures on the wall. I anxiously awaited the end of the day, for my son's class to return home. Would he be a changed boy?

For one magical afternoon, there were no power struggles, no discipline problems, just one very wet mommy enjoying her kids as much as they were enjoying her...

The new arrival plunges its parents into the lifelong role and responsibility of motherhood and fatherhood. This is combined with the equally lifelong puzzle of how do we do it? There are no training schools for parenting...

Drawing from my family experience, and those of my friends, I want to share some of these precious moments spoken with such innocence that it warms our heart and makes us chuckle out loud...

To her, some things work, some don’t, but eventually you will figure it out. I love that attitude. I wish I had it. And actually, I better get it. Because at this rate, if I want to stay a few steps ahead I already have a lot of catching up to do.

I recently received a call from a journalist who asked me what I thought of the TV show "The Hottest Mom in America." The show is currently auditioning housewives desperately trying to convince producers that they are wonderful, hands-on mothers and also... well... hot. The reporter specifically wanted my opinion as a modern Jewish mom...

For two days I did mock job interviews with MBA students at an Ivy League business school. This was to prepare them for the real job interviews they will have soon afterwards with the biggest, hottest, most competitive companies today...

The Rebbe speaks on utilizing the energy of children (August 7, 1985)

On Rosh Hashana, we are reminded of the Jewish mother’s dedication and self-sacrifice in fostering our nation’s deep commitment to G‑d.

It is interesting what happens when you simply watch your kids. They begin to demonstrate all sorts of abilities you never realized they had, just lurking under the surface of their dependency on you...

My heart swelled. I empathized with her awkwardness, her inability to casually approach the group and join the activity-- having existed as an outsider myself on many an occasion...

Today I woke up feeling as if I were leaning to one side. Whether it is the right or the left, I cannot tell you. However, something is definitely off...

Now breads and rolls aside- this request and the arguments that I hear or see daily about always wanting what the other has, well, they depress me...

When I close the door of my home, there is no other mother. To my children, I am the only mother in the world, the only mother they will ever know...

I have been watching our rabbi's kids growing up. There is something special about them, some kind of profound depth, where I can almost feel their spirituality. They seem so content and satisfied internally, and, yes, they play with toys, run in the park and jump on trampolines, but it seems only an addition to already existing inner contentment...

Beyond the task itself and the satisfaction of the art of treating each garment according to its needs, I find a whole world of emotional connection in my loads of dirty laundry. As I pull each garment out of the hamper, it tells me a story about my dear children...