Visits

My parents are in town visiting. They come every few months and sometimes they stay with us and sometimes they don't. They usually come for at least a few weeks at a time since they are making the trip all the way here. When they stay with us for an extended period it can be challenging having all of us under one roof. When they were planning this trip, they weren't sure if they were going to rent a place and I was starting to complain to my husband about them staying with us for a long time. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back. Having just lost his father, and his mother the year before, I realized how privileged I was to even have both my parents to spend time with. He was thinking the same thing as me, and let me know. I acknowledged that I understood and I stopped complaining.

Turns out my folks rented a place this time, and it makes a difference having some space. We have been spending time together each day since they arrived a few weeks ago. I am enjoying having them around. My husband's words really sunk in. At 92 and 81, I should savor the time I have with them. We did a jigsaw puzzle yesterday together and I can't remember the last time I sat still and focused that long. We talk and I learn about my family history and I remind them of stories of when I grew up that they have forgotten. We talk about politics, history and art. Together, they seem to know more than Google, and I am learning a lot.

I love watching my children have time with their grandparents. Living three thousand miles apart means when we do spend time together, it is pretty concentrated. My kids love playing cards with my parents and there are always some sort of music lesson that develops whenever my mom hears my daughter practicing piano. I love looking over and seeing the two of them sitting on the piano bench together, playing a duet. Now that my son has been taking lessons as well, he has also been spotted with Grandma next to him on the bench.

It isn't always easy having them around. They are set in their ways, and it is hard for the kids to figure out the difference between my parent's loud complaining volumes, and being yelled at. I can't really explain why old people get so grumpy sometimes, but despite those challenging moments, they have a bond. The other night, my kids asked if they could go out to dinner with Grandma and Grandpa without us. They wanted a Grandma and Grandpa date, so my parents picked them up, and my husband and I went and got our own dinner. Everyone was happy. We were going to all go out for ice cream last night, but it got late and we were all tired. We are putting it on our list for the week though. Finding activities that work for people ages 7 to 92 isn't always easy, but getting ice cream always works. You scream, I scream we all scream for ice cream.


Addendum- My parents have been here since February. They can't get back home because it is too risky to fly and NY isn't a great place to get stuck either right now. We are no longer having ice cream together, but we get to have short distanced visits when we drop off groceries for them every few days. This is not an ideal way to spend time with them and  even though I don't get to give them hugs, I feel better knowing they aren't far away.

Macrame

It took me many years to recognize the difference between not being a smart person and not being a well-educated person. Deep down, I felt insecure about my intelligence. I felt like I was a good imposter sounding knowledgable when keeping up with conversations socially. When I helped my kids with their math homework, my basic understanding of mathematical concepts was limited. In an improv class I took recently, we were asked to improvise a few important American historical events. I got the Louisiana Purchase, and the Alamo, and didn't really remember what either were. I know at some point I memorized the periodic table, but I can't remember more than a handful now. Over time, through watching my own children's experiences at school, I realized what went wrong for me: I had a more than a couple of teachers that did nothing to build my confidence.

I was in the resource room for the latter years of elementary school, and then all the way through high school. Today when a child has special needs at school, they are treated kindly and given support. When I went to school, going to the resource room was almost like all the kids in your class pointing at you and calling you stupid. Very few kids went, and everyone knew who you were if you did go. I entered public elementary school at a disadvantage. I had started in a private day school learning Hebrew and English. I could not read or write english as well as Hebrew and when my parents saw me struggling, they moved me to public school. I had a great teacher for one year, and then it went south.

For third grade I had a mean, old teacher. She yelled, she was strict and she was anything but gentle. Mrs. Hawkins was her name, and I went to school afraid of her. One day, she did a macrame project with us. She provided the rope and instructed everyone how to tie the knots into a planter. No matter how many times I tried to follow her instructions, my ropes didn't tie in the way I wanted them too. Discouraged and frustrated, I asked her for help. Instead of patiently trying to break it down for me, she got annoyed and said that maybe I wasn't smart enough for third grade. She even said that maybe I belonged in the LD (learning disabled) classes. I remember walking away from her desk crying and giving up on my macrame planter. When a teacher tells a young child that they aren't bright, that child will believe them. For many years, it will take that child a long time to believe in themselves again. It took me a long time to believe that I was smart. Fortunately, when a teacher builds their students up, the children will learn to believe in themselves as well.

Later when I had a few wonderful teachers, I became especially grateful for the few that were patient and kind. I went on to get my college degree in theatre and education. I never became a classroom teacher, but taught many classes with the NY Board of Ed, LAUSD as well as in a bunch of private schools. I watched and learned that the most important thing a teacher could do was to find something to love about each child. It is not easy, but it really does beat the alternative. I never made a macrame planter to bring home. From time to time, when I see anything made out of macrame, I would remember giving up on it.

All of this time at home now has made me want to try again. I was patient and kind with myself and after a few tries I did it. Take that, Mrs. Hawkins!

People

One week has passed since we have been socially distancing. For an extrovert like myself, I am finding this all so challenging. We have found some positive alternatives to spending time together. I have been using Zoom, Houseparty and FaceTime to see people. I have been talking to friends in my challenging through balconies and window screens. We have driven to our friends house and stood outside our car to chat with them from a safe distance. I am committed to my husband but I fantasize about hugging my friends. This is not natural for us as humans. I fear that this time, while it's bringing us all closer in some ways, it will likely have some damaging effects on the future of how we connect. So much is yet to be seen.

In the grand scheme of things, this is but a moment in time. Historically, every one hundred years or so, illness take hold of society like this. We are living this history together now. By making the sacrifice to not live our day to day lives the way we were, we are trying to save lives. Intellectually, I get that, but emotionally, I am still in shock from the speed at which are lives all changed. Just hearing about how long this will be going on overwhelms me. It is taking time for us to adjust to this new lifestyle and then when it all ends, it will once again take us time to adjust back.

When life gives me lemons, I usually run to make lemonade with my friends. I miss them more than ever now. Sure these calls and virtual visits are helpful, but I miss sitting across from my friends and just talking. I miss hiking with friends, I miss grabbing lunch with them and I miss hugs. My friend Orit and I have gone through a lot of monumental experiences together. We met in a small Kundalini yoga class, taught by a pretty odd guy. He preached a lot and went off on some strange rants. Orit and I started talking after class. We bonded on having come out of that class relatively as grounded as we were when we went in. When we met, she was married. I was single and living alone. We hiked often, and got to be close friends. When she got pregnant, she was my first friend to have a baby. Much of my income back then was made from babysitting. I did not feel grown up enough to have a baby myself, but I was inspired when Orit did.

By the time her son was a year old, I was dating David. Although we didn't plan on getting married right away, we talked often about how we both wanted children. When I saw him playing with her son at her house, I was excited about the possibility of having a child with him. Orit supported me through a few hurdles I faced between dating David and marrying him. I got pregnant when we were engaged and had planned on doing so much of the wedding myself. I got so sick during my pregnancies though. She helped me, by providing me with different remedies to try, she did the bouquets for my wedding and even picked up my veil at my house on my wedding day because I had forgotten to bring it down with me to the venue.

Having been such a tuned-in mother to her son, I often called Orit with parenting questions during those first few years. When David and I decided to have a second child, I was delighted to be pregnant at the same time with Orit. This time she was having another boy, but not hers. She was a surrogate for another couple. She was at our house with her son, the night she went into labor. Every year on that date I try to call her to say "Happy giving birthday." A few months later when I gave birth, Orit was there, as my friend, my doula and my photographer. In the long hours of labor, I hit a standstill in progress. The doctor implied it was time to think about a c-section, David asked me what I wanted to do and Orit in my other ear, came over and told me not to give up. A few hours later, when she sat down to take a break and have a sandwich, David had to run to go get her. I was ready to push and delivered a healthy baby boy of my own.

I was so grateful to share such a beautiful, meaningful, life experience with her. Being pregnant together deepened our already close friendship. She is a talented, creative photographer and artist. Most every photo of our family was taken by her. Much of her photography covers the walls of our home. My favorite wedding photo, was not taken by the photographer we hired, but rather taken by Orit on a toy camera that she brought with her. She snapped a photo of the two of us at the end of the night sitting together on a couch. It hangs in our dining room. Orit's son is now in high school and driving. He is a pretty incredible person, it's not surprising given who his parents are. Two loving creative, supportive people. The three of them make quite the triangle.

We do not live terribly far from one another in miles, but in LA traffic it may as well be a flight away. Last year, just for fun, I sent her a notebook with a letter in it. I invited her to write back whatever and whenever she wanted. A few months later the book was full, after being sent back and forth between us. We sent stories about our lives, recipes, drawings and pictures. I never thought of that way of communicating to replace us seeing each other, but for now it might have to do. So excited to see Orit in person when this is all over. Even if it takes going through LA traffic to get there, it will be worth it.

People

During this time of isolation, I've looked back at blogs I wrote just a week ago. I was stunned by how quickly our lives all changed.

Movies, TV, and books are suddenly not as relatable, since the drama in them seems to pale in comparison to our reality right now. In moments where I forget this is all happening, the wake up call that it actually is, stings. It seems so hard to believe that it is actually as bad as it is. In order to keep my head from flying all over, I am constantly bringing myself back to gratitude. There is still so much that is wonderful. I am so happy to have this time with my family. I know there are and will be more moments, where I don't feel as excited about it, but I am right now. I always said how time passes so quickly with children and that I wish I could slow it down. Wish granted, with consequences indeed, but granted none the less.

What I am missing most already is the people I love. Simply upon hearing I couldn't see my friends, makes me want to be around them even more. Yes, technology is amazing, but not quite the same as real people. Before any of this began, there were friends I just saw too little of. Now, I am thinking about how when we all can again, I would like to see friends that I haven't seen in way too long. In the meantime, I am going to focus on some shout outs and stories of people I love. I have taken for granted that our friends are always going to around when we are ready and not that any of them are sick or dying, but I don't want to wait for anything more dramatic to happen to tell them how I feel.

Scot, for a long time, a long time ago, was someone I spoke to everyday. He and I were so close. We shared a passion for life, fun, and anxiety. Fortunately, we never freaked out at the same time, and were actually a strong support for one another. He and I met through another close friend, and we conncted right away. He was in a long term relationship, and I was dating way too many people. He was someone stable in my life when very little was stable. We would play tennis together, listen to music, watch movies, take hikes, draw, create music, go out to eat, and one of my favoites: we would ride our bikes down crazy hills screaming. We both had the ability to feel things so deeply. The lows were so low, but the highs were amazing.

As the years went by, we saw each other through some tough times. He was there for me when I broke up with the last boyfriend that I said I would ever date. After seventeen years he and his girlfriend got married, and when they spilt up shortly after, I would like to think I was a support to him. We have not seen each other in over five years, and as far as I am concerned that is unacceptable. He got married to an incredible woman, and they are so well matched. They have two beautiful daughters, who I haven't met yet, also unnaceptable. They now live in Nashville where they can focus on her job as a cardiologist/singer-songwriter, and his job as a singer/songwriter, producer, and parent tobtheir girls.

After that last brutal break up I had, when I swore off ever having to break up with someone again, I dedicated time to being with close friends and doing things I loved. I met Scot up the street from my apartment to play tennis at the court in the park. As we sent the ball back and forth, he told me he wanted to set me up with someone I already knew. It took a lot of convincing from him, and from myself to agree to go, but I did and I am so glad. He set me up with David and I am forever indebted to him for that. He also knew I would not go on a date without him, so we made it a double date. So many memories from Scot that make me smile. Even now, in the face of all this sadness, he makes me laugh. I think he is a brilliant artist and a wonderful person. Here is his latest work of art.

The Tooth Fairy

My husband and I went out for dinner a few nights ago. It is rare for us to do this during the week, but my parents were visiting so we had them stay with the kids. When we returned both kids were fast asleep in their beds. I kissed their foreheads and went to bed. The next morning was a school day, so bright and early with the sun we all began to wake up to get ready. Before I could get out of bed, my son comes dashing up onto my lap. He begins to tell me that he lost his tooth before he went to bed. He didn't want us to know, or Grandma and Grandpa to know, because he wanted to see if the tooth fairy was actually real. My heart sank. How was I going to get out of this one? Time had run out to save face.

I began to plan in my mind, how I was going to get him to swear he would not tell a single friend at school that day. Could I convince him that the tooth fairy had overslept and would come again that night? Could he be convinced that the tooth fairy had a very busy night with too many teeth to collect in one night? As I came up short on saving the day, my sadness rushed in. As I looked up his face, I saw a smile. I was confused and unsure what to say next, but I didn't have to, because he was so excited. He explained that the tooth fairy was real and that she left a note, a bath bomb and five dollars. He was so thrilled to read me what she wrote. I could hardly believe it, my eleven year old daughter is actaully the real tooth fairy. Or as far as I am concerened, an angel.

Despite the arguing, bickering and whining between my kids, they truly love each other. They take care of eachother, and when one hurts, the other one feels that hurt. The other night, my daughter was upset and crying and I was trying to get my son to bed. As I laid next to him, he suggested I go to her and give her a hug. When I am walking and holding each of my children's hands I feel full. I feel like I have all the love in the world and I am so grateful. When I see my two children holding eachother's hands, my cup runs over, and I am complete. For that moment anyway. It usually doesn't last long, but it is magical when it does. Realizing that my daughter cared enough to give her own money to her brother, so that he wasn't let down by the tooth fairy, I felt proud. I felt happy and relieved too, but I love how they love each other.

When there was a moment that morning that I could thank her, without her brother noticing, I did. I hugged her and told her how grateful I was for what she did. She smiled, and then quickly responsed with "You owe me five dollars." Fair is fair, and I will pay her back. I owe her a lot more than that though.

Meaniacs

Mean-iacs is a silly word we use in our home to describe someone when we think they're being mean (think maniac meets mean). Sometimes though, we use it when referring to the kid's "friends" at school, when they say unkind things. This year my kids have been coming to me more often than in years past with complaints that kids at school are being mean. I know it is just the age and phase they are in right now. A second grade boy and a middle school girl might be two of the hardest ages. Kids can be mean. I have seen it in my own childhood: I was mean at times, my kids have been mean too. No one escapes it, and it's a phase of childhood that hasn't evolved much. What has changed though is my approach to helping my kids.

When my daughter was little, I read books about empowering her to tell her peers when they upset her. If a friend said something upsetting, she was taught to tell them that what they said wasn't very nice, or to let them know they hurt her feelings. Another approach I tried was just listening, validating their feelings and then letting them navigate the next steps on their own. I also tried to guide them when they came to me, but stopped asking it about the issues the day after. I didn't investigate or interrogate them. The issue may have been upsetting the day before but it might be over for them, even if I am still upset about it. No matter what I did though, no single response I have equipped my children with ever really worked.

This year my daughter, who has always been on the diminutive side and never been bothered by it, is bothered by it now. She doesn't wish she was taller, she just wishes the girls who have been making comments about it would stop. She has asked them and they apologize but then they do it again a few days later. My son is experiencing just some typical, age-appropriate bout of snarky, but it is frustrating none the less. He will share news on joining Cub Scouts, or skiing his first black diamond run and a kid will say something like "who cares?!" He doesn't cry about it at school, but he comes home hurt. I have been trying to support them with my arsenal of tools, but now it's time to toughen them up a bit. I am giving them sarcastic comebacks, and I didn't think I would ever use it with my kids, but my inner Queens is coming out.

When I was nine, I was hanging in the basement with a few kids from my neighborhood. Allen, a kid my age told me I was too slow to run with all of them. Without saying a word, I stood up and punched him in the gut. This accomplished nothing good in the moment and I actually got hurt when I was punched back, but I stood up for myself and Allen never said anything like that to me again. I am in no way telling my kids to punch, hit or even touch anyone on the shoulder. I am going to suggest though that they start speaking up and out a bit more. They are smart and quick and when all else fails -- try something else. If someone asks my daughter how the weather is down there, she should tell them its hard to breath because they are taking up all the air. If someone responds to my son with a "who cares?" he should tell them he does. If they don't stop, I will suggest they walk away, but maybe just maybe kids will learn when to stop being hurtful. Maybe I take it even harder than they do, but I know they aren't too happy with the tools they have had so far. I have to give them a few more options though before they turn all bridge and tunnel on their friends.

What's Best

When my daughter was a toddler, I was friendly with a group of moms who bought into the LA scene so much. It took me a while to realize that we didn't have much in common beyond the fact that we all had babies at the same time. It went from being a great support to have women going through the same challenges of motherhood together, to feeling like I was back in high school, hanging with the snooty click. They were all so serious about getting their babies into the best preschools. They had clear ideas of what they wanted for their children and what was the "best." I eventually came to my senses that this group was not for me, but I learned that this city feeds off of impressionable people. If you are in the market for a preschool in this town, there are books, coaches and classes that make you feel like if you don't choose well, your child might not get into college one day.

That experience made me so frustrated. I was determined to find a reasonably priced, clean, fun preschool that didn't have a curriculum that included Singaporean math for my then three year old. I decided that I loved play based Waldorf, Reggio styles, and so I set off on a mission. I found a great place and started her a few days a week in the summer just to get a feel of the school. During week two, the school announced they were moving and my whole plan collapsed. I had to find a plan B, and quickly. I ultimately chose a pretty low frills preschool, that wasn't defined by any one style. It was reasonably priced and set in a beautiful park near my house. Convenience wins, every time for me. It wasn't at all what I had planned on but it ended up being wonderful.

When it came time to plan for Kindergarten, I once again had an idea of what style of school I wanted to send her to. The only problem though is that my plan didn't match her. I wanted her to play, sing songs, and sit in a circle. She loved letters and begged me to teach her how to read when she was four. She was eager to learn in a more academically driven environment and I had to let go of what I wanted. My idea wasn't a fit for who she was at the time. Time and time again I need to be reminded of this as a parent.

Last year, at the end of first grade for my son, I learned that one of my daughter's favorite teacher was moving into teaching a second grade class. I loved this teacher because she was outside-the-box, and had a unique way of teaching. We are not allowed to make requests to the principal, but I couldn't help myself and I begged. She had explained that the classes had been made already, but she assured me I would be happy with who he got. I assumed she placed him with the other second grade teacher that was a bit more eccentric and had her won style. I was hoping for someone who tailored their teaching to each individual style. When I finally saw who he did get, I was so upset. The teacher was a nice person, but she didn't fit any of these alternative styles. At that point we had to accept what he had and hope for the best.  By the end of the first day of school, I saw a change in my son. He had gone off to school scared and crying, but came home so content and happy about his new teacher. I was once again wrong about what I thought my kids needed. His current teacher is exactly the right fit for him. She is calm, gentle, kind and patient. She is also solid, clear and a fantastic teacher. She provides the right balance of structure and silliness. The class listens and respects her and she listens and respects the class. I have been so pleasantly surprised at how well this year is going for my son. He is excited to go to school each day. I love that I was so wrong about what I thought was best for him.