Why My Children Sit in the Main Sanctuary

This time of year is quite busy for Jewish families. We celebrate the new year with two biggie holidays, Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur. Each holiday is rich with tradition—and filled with hours of reverent prayer services.

This year, we elected to skip the babysitting, skip most of the tot and family services, and bring our boys to the main sanctuary for the morning services. The morning services that last about five hours. Five hours in Hebrew, a language neither of my children speak.

We were not immune to some of the side eyes, glances, and outright glares. My boys are relatively well behaved, but they are 16 month and 3 year old boys. No amount of spiffy suits or shiny shoes (or pockets stuffed with snacks, transformers and books) can keep them from acting like two little guys.

My boys are the products of an interfaith family. They proudly don their Buchanan tartan for the Celtic festival, have strong Scottish names, and open presents from Santa Claus. We keep a kosher home, light candles for Shabbat, and listen to Hebrew songs in the car. As their parents, we feel it is very important that they understand and feel connected to their roots, as unique as their particular set of roots may be.

But on the most holy days of the year, the High Holidays, we feel that it is essential that they participate in the real deal. We want them to see the real Torah, and not a cloth stuffed version. We want them to hear the prayers sung in the same way they have been sung for over 4,000 years, not a cutesy toddler tune. We want them to hear the silence pierced by the sound of the shofar, a real ram's horn, and not a plastic toy. And yes, we even want them to feel that bit of discomfort that comes with sitting and standing and sitting and standing over and over again. Its not always easy to be part of 5,772 years of history.

So when the Tatiman asked if he could sit closer to the Torah, we marched up to the very front and sat on the floor with an unobstructed view. We noticed the whispers, but we didn't care. When he asked, “What do we do to celebrate Yom Kippur?” we did not shush him. And when the Tatiman cried, not because we were still in services, but because we had to leave early to feed the Finny Bo Binny, we knew we had done something right.

We can not guarantee that our children will pass on our traditions. We can not guarantee that they will see value in being part of an unbroken chain. But we will do everything in our power to make them feel that their presence matters. That their voices are part of the music of the service. Hopefully, one day, they will do the same with their children.

Lucky.

The last song we danced to at our wedding was “The Luckiest” by Ben Folds. It’s an awkward love song, but the simple chorus keeps playing through my head these past few days:

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

On Saturday night, Hurricane Irene (a mere category 1 storm!) ripped through our neighborhood, literally. The damage is like nothing I have ever seen before, and something I hope to never see again. A large tree fell on our house, causing significant structural and water damage to four out of our nine rooms.

But we are so, so, so very lucky.

The tree hit with a loud boom that shook our entire house. My boys were asleep in their rooms upstairs, and my husband said he doesn’t think my feet touched a single step while I ran up to find them. The Finny Bo Binny remained blissfully asleep and unaware until we plucked him from his bed and brought him downstairs. The Tatiman, however, was cowering in a tent in his room, afraid we had been hit by a firework. I grabbed him and took him down stairs where we all—all four point five of us—sat together on a single chair. Huddling together, taking in what had just happened. I told the Tatiman “We are ok, because we are together.” He believed me, even though I wasn’t so sure I believed myself.

In the days since, we have learned how lucky we really are. We are lucky that the tree did not hit one of the boys rooms. We are lucky that our strongly built home held the tree from doing even more damage. We are lucky that we have an insurance company that has worked very hard to line up a team to fix the damage. We are lucky that we have lost very little of sentimental value, and our house can be rebuilt. We are lucky to have friends and family offering us food, temporary shelter, warm showers, babysitting, and anything else we could possibly imagine.

We are lucky because we still have each other.

No doubt. I am the luckiest.

Tissues for Mommy

One week from tonight I will be tucking my PRESCHOOLER into bed for the first time. I can not think that, say that, or type that without tears streaming down my face.

Don’t get me wrong, I am beyond thrilled with the school we have chosen for the Tatiman. He is BEYOND excited to start school. He has been counting down the days since we visited back in March. We told him that he couldn’t start preschool until he turned three. The first words out of his mouth on the morning of his third birthday were “Can I go to preschool today?” He is ready.

I am not.

For the Tatiman, this is the beginning of everything. This is his first foray out into the real world. This is his first chance to make friends without my influence. This is his first exposure to Spanish and raising goats and sitting in a reading circle and on and on and on…

For me, this is an end. I won’t have my little guy to snuggle on slow rainy mornings, eating golden raisins while we plan our day. He won’t be my sous chef when I go on a baking binge, shaking our granola bar mixture, or stealing blueberries from my muffin mix. I won’t be able to protect him from mean kids. I can’t read every snack label to make sure there is no kiwi and on and on and on…

But just like I knew, with all of my heart, that I needed to stay home with him after he was born, I know now, with all of my heart, that I need to let him take this first big step toward independence.

Our school supply shopping list included one box of tissues for the teacher. I was stoked when I got a 2-for-1 deal; I figured a teacher can never have too many tissues. Well…I’m thinking that I might have to keep that tissue box in the car for me.

Love Multiplied.

Every now and then I read something that makes me nod my head in agreement, laugh along with the author, or in the case of this blog http://confessionsofaminivanlover.blogspot.com/ cry. And I'm not talking about a little tear rolling down my cheek combined with a little sniffle. I'm talking about full on sobbing, heaving for breaths, snot rolling out of my nose. Oh, P.S., I was sitting in my doctor's office waiting room while reading this.

I can remember so vividly my last day at home with just the Tatiman. We had big plans to spend the day with my sweet boy, take him to his favorite restaurant for lunch, and then drop him off at his grandparents house while we headed to the hospital. However, the Finny Bo didn't cooperate with that plan, and we ended up needed to drop the Tatiman off much earlier that day. I sobbed most of the way to the hospital because I didn't get my last lunch date with my sweet Tatiman. I spent hundreds of dollars on a "Big Brother" gift bag for the Tatiman to get when he came to the hospital to meet his new sibling. I was excited to meet our newest addition, but also filled with dread--yes, dread--that perhaps my greed to have more babies would ruin our family. Yes, "greed" and "ruin". Hormones obviously help me think clearly.

I don't think you can understand a mother's love until you become one. There is no way to describe it, but it is more powerful than any other emotion. I didn't think I could love anyone more than I loved my sweet Tatiman--until I met the Finny Bo Binny. In an instant, I realized that not only could I love him just as much--my love for the Tatiman could grow even more. Being a mom has taught me that it is ok to have different kinds of love.

I love my Tatiman with a sense of awe. He made me a mother. I got to experience so many firsts with him--first flutters in my belly, first time hearing his heartbeat, first time meeting the person I grew, first 1st birthday extravaganza...and even though I will repeat many of those experiences with his siblings, nothing will compare to the very first time.

I love my Finny Bo Binny with a fierce kind of love. The moment I laid eyes on him, I felt this intense need to protect him from the world, from others' expectations. And that was before reflux reared its ugly head. My Finny Bo Binny has made me a better mother. He has taught me patience, and to appreciate small changes, and to really, really, cherish the good times. He was the only one who could teach me these lessons, and I will forever be grateful to him.

We currently have Baby #3 on the way. This pregnancy is not filled with any dread. I don't feel greedy, just extra blessed. And I'm certainly not worried about ruining my family--I'm just so excited to watch our love multiply.

Oh, P.S., out of all the gifts that the Tatiman recieved on the day he met his baby brother...the Finny Bo is the only one he showed any interest in. This go 'round, the Big Brothers will get "Big Brother" T shirts and special lunch in the hospital cafeteria!!

Boys Will Be Boys

I've read a bunch of articles lately (courtesy of facebook, my source for news) about raising 'genderless' children, preschools that refer to all the children as 'friends' instead of boys and girls, and specific ways we should talk to little girls. I found myself getting increasingly annoyed with these articles, because I think that ignoring differences in gender is just about as bad as pigeon-holing a person because of their gender. I think it is OK to tell a little girl she looks pretty, just as long as you also tell her that math is awesome, and she can play football if she wants to. There is nothing wrong with exposing boys to lots of sports, as long as you also expose them to painting, and dolls, and cooking.

At not-quite 3 years old, the Tatiman has some very definite views on gender-roles. He currently has a boy baby in his tummy, because “only boys can grow boys.” And when he grows up to be a daddy, he must grow a beard. Makes perfect sense.

The Tatiman has had a 'Pincess' phase, and Finny Bo Binny happily pushes around a little pink shopping cart. The Tatiman loves Tinkerbell and princess stories, just as much as he loves Storm Troopers and Legos. I don't think of these as “girl” toys or “boy” toys. I think of them as 'toys', and by introducing my boys to a wide range of toys and imaginative play, I hope they will flock to whatever it is that they truly find interesting.

So, I thought those articles had no bearing on our lives. Until I got slapped in the face by a Happy Meal toy. We picked up a Happy Meal on our way out of town. The person at the counter didn't ask me if it was for a boy or a girl, and I didn't think to tell them. When I opened the box, I pulled out a Barbie head with long, flowing, blonde hair, and a pink comb. For some reason, I thought the Tatiman would be disappointed. The 'boy' toy would have been a Pokemon character (not that he knows who Pokemon is...but for some reason I thought he would like that better). Immediately, I said “Oh, this isn't a cool toy.” He asked me why...and I caught myself. I tried to rephrase and retract my statement as I handed him the toy. He thought it was SO cool. “It has hair just like when I have long hair just like Rapunzel has long hair!” Touche. I guess I need to pay a little bit more attention to what I say, and how it may play into my boys' senses of self, and thoughts on their place in the world.

I like to think of myself as a progressive mom. Although we have chosen a more traditional lifestyle with an at-home mom, and a working dad—I like to think it is because of the feminist movement that I was free to make this choice. I like to think that one day the Tatiman and Finny Bo Binny will have the same freedom of choice—and many more. To marry whomever they love, to have children that look just like them, or come from a world away. To stay home, or work outside the home, or do some combination that works for their families. To play sports, or dance ballet. To be scientists or fashion designers. I hope that my boys follow their dreams, whatever they may be. But, barring major surgery, they will always be my boys. Rough and tumble, sweet and sensitive, gentle, and stinky, and strong, and emotional...I love these little guys.