hello candidate

New Year. New Post.

2012-01-02T08:24:00.001-05:00

It has been about a year since my last post. Thought I was done with this site until I reread what the boys were up to then, laughed, and remembered why I originally began writing hellocandidate.

So, I'll begin again with their hijinks.

Jack - 5 years old:

Incredibly kind and sensitive.
Loves soccer and karate
Is just now playing more by himself, with action figures he throws around with grunts and yells...
Never...
Favorite food: salmon
Favorite color: green
Favorite subject: math (Yes, I think I know this already :)

Benny - 3 years old:

Incredibly mischievous
When disappointed, he will put his head in his hands and sigh for a second. Then, lift his head and continue his day. A great lesson.
But...he is in some kind of hitting and throwing things stage (not fun)
Favorite show: Yo Gabba Gabba
Favorite food: Pizza (Or really, bread and sauce. We have to take the cheese off or he will throw it up)
Favorite color: blue
Loves to sing and will break out in song randomly

Here's to a wonderful 2012 filled with fun, growth and focus!

March 2011

2011-04-21T06:49:00.003-04:00

So, time is quickly slipping by, and between work, kids, avoiding the dishes and passing out every night in the eight o'clock hour, I haven't been recording the hilariousness that is 4 1/2 and 2.

Jack - 4.5:

- Enjoys dressing up - as anything

- Likes to play the game "bad monkeys", which means we are a family of bad monkeys doing...something, just living, I guess. The next day, we will play "bad tigers"

- Can catch you in a lie in a nanosecond

- New movie loves: Star Wars and The Wizard of Oz

- Will choose to keep Benny laughing, even if it means not listening to us

- If you stub your toe, Jack will run over to kiss it.

- Is great at puzzles, but doesn't concentrate on just one toy for too long!

Jack's litany at bedtime, which he calls "the rules":
If I have to go poopie or peepee I could just call you? And I shouldn't have to go for long?
If I pick my nose, will it bleed? If it does, tell Daddy because he's older.
Will I have bad dreams?
Watch which way my head goes. Can it go that way (points)? Can it go that way (points to the other side)?

Benny - 2

- If you ask him, "Are you Benny?", he will respond, "I'm a good guy"

- Loves Nemo, Shrek and Toy Story, which he now just calls "number 3"

- Would beat us all in a pizza, hot dog, meatball eating contest

- Is so cudldly and talkative when he first wakes up

- Loves his green shirt. He'll say, "I have green shirt. Mommy has bluuuuueeee shirt."

- Loves to talk about and look at pictures of his friends - Will Will and Andi especially!

They both cannot stop wrestling each other and love to sleep in the same room. Their favorite game to play together involves throwing around action figures (which they call "bad guys") in a pretend ambush.

Thanks

2010-11-28T07:09:00.004-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I fell into a huge depression. I'm not exactly sure why, but probably a culmination of the move, work and being so busy that I could barely see straight. My perspective was so off that I truly believed some very strange notions about life, parenthood, teaching, etc. It started with a panic attack I had over my freshman seminar class.

My students are learning about each academy we have at the school - Engineering, Finance, Law, IT, and Hospitality. We have a professional kitchen for the Hospitality students, and they often cook for the the teachers' meetings. Yum! So, for this unit, my students had to type up a family or favorite recipe and write a narrative about it. I gave them an example from Coolio's Cooking with Coolio. I struggled a bit before giving it to them...because there is a little cursing and some drug references...but there is also an incredible voice and attention to audience that I wanted the students to model. I picked a relatively benign page to copy, but after passing it out, I regretted my choice. I envisioned parents trying to protect their children from the rampant world of drugs, cursing and negativity around them, and wondering why their son/daughter was given this example in school. I totally overreacted; panicked; called my friend in a panic. Asked the kids to give it back the next day, and replaced it with a MUCH less interesting page from 1,000 Jewish Recipes. This "mistake" started a downward spiral into anxiety and depression for a week and a half. My confidence was shaken. My ability to see clearly...shaken.

Aside from the pain (and it is actual, physical pain), I cannot stand how selfish depression/anxiety are. Example: I forgot to pay our car payment and a few other bills, forgot my parents anniversary, and I mean completely forgot. And because I was too depressed to take their phone calls, Michelle wasn't able to remind me (though she tried).

I got out of it, slowly...it took a couple of good days at work for me to feel confident again. Or rather, the ability to SEE that they were good days. The days themselves were probably not so different from any others.

So, this year, I am thankful for so many things (for Evan - my rock, for Jack, for Ben, for their health, for family, for friends, for love, for all the things we notice when they are shaken)

But I am most thankful right now for mental health and adequate perspective.

And these things, too:

- Old mix tapes that Jack and I dance to in the kitchen

- Ben's squishy cheeks

- Jack pretending that we are all bears about to hibernate

- My pillows

- The way Benny touches my eyebrows and says, in his sweet little voice,
eye...brow

- Hanging out in our new home (with all of its natural light) on a Saturday

Moving Along

2010-11-07T06:38:00.002-05:00

So, after the rocky transition that was last year, the 2010-2011 school year was going to be my "year of the same". I was so looking forward to a year of no major transitions...

Ha.

We just moved again last weekend! That's four times in four years (if you count the three months we lived with the Serpicks) We found out my first week back at work that our landlord wanted to sell the place, and I blocked that piece of information out of my mind for an entire month! Then, we were forced to begin looking at what was available to rent in Mt. Washington. Slim pickings. We had a great deal at our old place, and it was hard to imagine paying more money for a shittier space.

Alas, we found a great house to rent - more money, but more space too. And we love it.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of packing, cleaning, moving and transitioning into the new place (add Halloween, Evan and Benny's birthdays in there too). It took Benny a few nights of whining and a few mornings of waking up at 3:30, but he seems adjusted now. I only had one major panic attack. Evan and I have stopped bickering. Jack took the transition the easiest. He loved the space from day one and still gets excited to see it.

Jack: Are we going to our NEW house now?

Mommy: Yes. And from now on, honey, when I say we're going home, I always mean our new house.

Five minutes later: Jack: Are we almost at our NEW house?

Alright, so our stuff is all over the place and I can't find my clothes and now when I want to lay down and rest, I can add, You have to unpack, too!! to the uber-long list of things to do. That's okay. I think as a parent of small children, transition just comes along with the territory. It's something to just get used to and not fear.

As my dad reminded me the other day, these are all good things. Lucky transitions.

Been A While

2010-10-29T06:06:00.008-04:00

Here's why:

The school year started. Plain and simple. Teaching takes over my life, again. I have yet to be able to teach and write poetry (bye for now, Fagel) or teach and concentrate on anything extra - consumed by the plans, the students, the grading, the needs.

I used to manage this obsession through practicing Capoeira, but then it seemed that Capoeira had to become my life for me to get to the next level, and I was ready to settle down with Evan and start a family at that point. So I quit both teaching and Capoeira (abruptly, regrettably) and had a few relatively less stressed years to enjoy pregnancy and adjust to motherhood (and move to Jersey City, then Baltimore - okay, some stress!).

Now, my "Capoeira" that takes my mind off of teaching has turned into making dinner, playing, baths, and bedtime routine for two little guys who deserve every bit of attention I can muster (and don't even get me started about dishes, laundry, or housework in general! That shit never gets done.) The problem is, I'm not always giving them the attention they deserve. My mind obsesses about what happened in the classroom or didn't happen, etc. When I catch myself, it becomes a battle that I don't always win. I'm starting to spend the time writing these obsessions down in order to let them go. It's a very complicated relationship.

That said, I'm in a good place with teaching in many ways. Someone once told me that it takes about seven years to truly find your way. This is my seventh year in the classroom - though because I took a break for a few years, and entered a new system, and began again with middle school, and had a baby less than a year old, last year sure felt like my first year teaching! I cannot even reference the blogs I wrote those first few months here - I was a total mess - kind of embarrassing. Now, I'm in a school I love, where I have support in the curriculum, while given the freedom to be creative. I have a good handle on classroom management, after yeeeeaaaaaarrrrsss of trial and error.

It is frustrating as a new teacher or a teacher in a new environment when the seasoned tell you that you will "find your way" with classroom management. It's like a hazing we all must go through. There is no formula or method that works for all because a teacher must be his/herself in the classroom, or it's 10 months of intensive, impossible acting for hours and hours daily. The first time you have a student freak out for something you thought was benign, you learn what is not benign. The first time you feel like shit for watching a student cower, you learn that is not your way, either. And, certainly, the times you let something serious go because you didn't have the energy to deal with it, you learn that some things need to be addressed immediately, no matter what. Or, as one of my colleagues would add, the first time you have a student whip out his penis and pee in front of your desk, you don't think bathroom passes are such a big deal any longer!

On the good days, I never felt better about myself. I feel like the service I am giving is the one that truly changes people and families and poverty and the country. On the bad days, I feel like an imposter who somehow tricked people into thinking I could handle this immense responsibility! Some days I plan and plan and research and put together a lesson I think is profound, and it bombs. Others, I haphazardly plan a lesson that I think will bomb and it will soar. It's all a part of that people factor that makes working with them rather than machines so glorious and inspiring.

Again, it's a very complicated relationship. But one I am so happy to be involved in.

Morning Rituals

2010-08-06T13:05:00.001-04:00

It is true that the later the boys go to bed (and the later I go to bed), the earlier they wake up. Happens every time. I have never understood this phenomenon. Has anyone done a study on this? Well, I thought we were turning a corner with the just about 6am wake-ups, and stayed up late last night to watch Project Runway (1.5 hours? Bor-ring!). But, alas, 5am this morning Benny is wailing and Jack teeters out of his room not too much later. They have always been connected in this way. The day Benny was born, Jack let out a cry and a second later, my water broke. No joke. They work together, those two.

I consider myself a morning person, always have, but I cannot play or function without my coffee. And that means, every morning the boys watch TV while I make coffee, Ben's bottle, breakfast, go online, wait to wake up, and the like. They were watching Pinocchio as I began this post.

At this point, we've had to limit our TV. One hour in the morning and no TV at night is the rule we (mostly) abide to. Exception being on dead-tired weekends, when we've spent all day running around or playing together and just need a break.

And what a break TV is! A true, "free" babysitter. Jack and Benny are mesmerized. I can go upstairs, on line, lay down, have a reasonably timed bathroom trip. It is all too tempting. Kind of like my own battle with TV-to-tune-out-ness.

see...

and...worst parents in the world award, here

Jack's loving Batman, with the fighting and jumping around and all sorts of mahem. Times have surely changed in a year. When he received a transformer last year, I thought I could control the boy socializing, remember? Now, he's all about playing "bad guys" where he attacks us on the sofa with a strange grin, making scary noises. He plays the super-hero-good-guy, saving the world from Ev and I. I play Cat Woman. Evan plays "Sally".

I can only imagine the fears and issues I'd be dealing with if I had a daughter (reason #103 for not having another child), but socializing boys is a delicate balance. I'm trying to encourage Jack's sensitivity along with helping him be a bit more daring. Benny....we'll see...he doesn't seem sensitive AT ALL. He is more the don't worry 'bout a thing type. He is obsessed with trucks and cars. He will knock you over when you're not playing Cat Woman, with a grin on his face, and charm you out of being angry about it.

Uh-oh.

Fagel

2010-07-21T14:15:00.002-04:00

This summer, my goal is to write my first book-length poetry manuscript. I've been working on it most days. Except the few when I had to pick up Benny from daycare due to vomit, diarrhea or hitting his head. Or the hours I got sidetracked by reality TV - damn you TV! But I digress...

The project is to translate my grandmother's numerous, incredible life stories into poems. After she died four years ago (just after her 96th birthday) I made a quick list of every story that I did not want to forget. There are 60 items on that list. I tried to begin writing then, but could only eek out two pantoums (a very cool form. check it out here) before I quit. One is about her first memory - watching the Tsar pass through her town. The other about a baby sister who died of a head injury in Russia when a cousin threw her too high and into the ceiling (to this day, I cannot watch people play this game with a baby). She never knew her sister's name or which cousin accidentally killed the baby. Her mother did not want to further hurt that cousin, who must have felt terribly, or for the children to hold anything against him (him?). I admire that lady for her wisdom under such duress.

While growing up, my grandmother's stories were a mixture of the exotic and historic. I was in awe, even as a young child, at how it was possible for our lives to be so drastically different in just two generations.

Examples of what I thought was exotic:

- Speaking Yiddish
- Having a Yiddish name
- Growing up as an Orthodox Jew
- Moving from Russia
- Traveling in a boat; on an ocean
- Kicking a man in China who she thought was going to hurt her brother (who broke the man's drum)
- Living in Japan for a couple of months (After they lost all of their money on the way to America. I wish I knew more about this story.)
- Having 5 brothers and sisters
- Having a cantor for a father
- Having a father who called out Sippa (his wife's Yiddish name) as his first word every time he came home
- Having only one dress and one doll

Examples of what I knew was historic:

- Fleeing the Russian Revolution
- Traveling to America during WWI, through the Pacific Ocean to avoid the war
- Leaving school at 14 years old to work and help support her family
- Being the only working person in her family during the depression
- Her brother freeing Holocaust survivors while drafted during WWII
- Being somewhat of a feminist - a woman who worked outside of the home
- The stories of her own grandmother, Shima, who was the only woman she knew who could read Hebrew. (Shima must have taught herself to read and write, perhaps?) Women used to sit around her while she read (Torah?) to them. Shima also opened a store in America, as an elderly lady, knowing very little English. (I wish I knew more about this woman!)

The book will be called Fagel which was my grandmother's Yiddish name. After Russia, only her closest family called her Fagel. To Americans, she was Fanny as a child and Phyllis as an adult.

A couple of weeks ago, I was rewriting Czar, the pantoum about her first memory. I'd heard this story so many times and not once did it occur to me to wonder which Tsar she was speaking of. I did some quick Wikipedias and realized that this was the Tsar who was taken prisoner and shot in a cellar with his wife, children and servants. And for a long time, people thought one daughter (and son?) survived until DNA proved them all wrong. Yes, I had heard this remarkable story, too! I never thought to wonder, Is this the Tsar of my grandmother's first memory? Indeed, it must have been. She spent her first seven years in a village outside of Mogilev, now Mahilyow in Belarus, where Tsar Nicholas II constantly traveled, because between 1915-1917 it functioned as the headquarters of the Russian Imperial Army. (Thank you, Wikipedia.)

I am almost entirely Russian Jew (1/4 Czech Jew). My children are 7/8's Russian Jew. But, I am sorry to say, I have never had any interest in Russian history or visiting Russia/Belarus. Perhaps because Russian Jewish history is so savage and ferocious, I never felt a connection to that country. Until now. This writing and revelation about the Tsar of my grandmother's first memory, has opened up a serious inquiry. For the first time ever, I'm all about the Russian Revolution. I'm reading Nicholas and Alexandra by Robert Massie to learn the details of this last Tsar and his family. My poetry has taken a turn from being about my grandmother's memories, to her memories in the context of the Russian Revolution, Bloody Sunday, pograms, Russian anti-semitism at the turn of the century, and Russian feminism in the time of Emma Goldman (also reading My Disillusionment in Russia), which is the time of our own Shima.

But now, how will I ever finish this manuscript by the end of the summer? (Especially since I have to teach a few weeks of a summer bridge program. You see, I was unaware that BCPSS pays on a 10 rather than 12-month payroll. Thanks again, BCPSS. More about that at another time.) Sigh.

I have to say, all of this writing and researching just makes me miss my grandmother more. She was the person I admired most as a child; who had the most influence on me; who I just couldn't get enough of; who cried when I was sick.

I guess missing her is an inevitable side effect.

*Michelle and I were never happier than when around this beautiful lady. I love how she must have been twirling my pigtails before this photo was taken. Thanks to my mom who (still) dutifully labels every photo. The back of this one says Hanukah Party 1979*

Vacate

2010-07-13T09:10:00.002-04:00

Every couple with children must leave their kids for a few days and go somewhere else. Just do it. Make it work. If you're lucky enough to have the support of family or in-laws or people who will help watch the children, go for it.

Marco Island, five days. We were worried about how Jack would take it, since he recently started crying when we "go to a show." (He thinks every time he's with a babysitter it's because of shows.) In his whole life, we've only spent two one-nighters away from him. And we have never, not one night, been away from Benny. Jack cried for about 30 seconds when we told him. Then we gave him the toys we had bought in anticipation of a negative reaction: Woody and Buzz Lightyear action figures (Evan prefers we don't call them "dolls"). He was fine, and had a blast, and was even sweeter when we came back.

Ev and I have been talking about taking a true vacation for our fifth anniversary for maybe two years! When Benny was first born and hysterical the moment Jack went to bed, we'd whimper and cry out, Fifth anniversary trip! At first we wanted to travel like we used to: Perhaps Italy or the Caribbean. But in our exhaustion, we realized that we did not want to feel the pressure of having to do anything but lay in bed and recover from the endless 5am wake ups.

Before our trip, my mother-in-law asked us, Have you thought about what you want to bring to Florida? My response, Pajamas and a bathing suit!

And that was all we needed (except the pajamas)! Five days of sleeping, reading, watching DVDs, Wimbledon, World Cup, beach, fish...and when we were ready for an activity: kayaking. The first night was bliss. The first morning was even more bliss. But that second night, I missed the boys. Badly. I had to force myself to remember that time is a quick bunny. Sooner than later I'll have every 5am to hang out with them.

Marco Island. Sigh. It was such a marriage refresher. I didn't think we needed a "reminder" of why we are together, but this was an uberpleasant reminder of how much fun we have, how connected we are, and what we love to discuss and experience together besides our beautiful boys.

We're going to do it again. One weekend every year. One big trip every five years. Next stop: Italy!

A-L-O-A-Y

2010-07-05T06:19:00.006-04:00

I used to secretly laugh at and judge parents who spelled out rather than say certain words in front of their kids. I thought it was ridiculous - why couldn't parents just DEAL? An awesome parent would be able to say the word in a way that would not lead to a meltdown!

Of course, this is one of many ignoramus-ish thoughts I had before knowing what parenting is really like or how it feels day in, day out; how tired parents are; how wonderful it feels to have a tiny bit of control over keeping the peace and avoiding a meltdown.

(Other ignoramus-ish thoughts before kids:
We will only play with wooden toys
No TV
Absolutely no Disney, ever!
I'll be able to travel the globe with babies
I want twins!)

I spell constantly now. Top things I have to spell to avoid a freak out session:

B-O-T-T-L-E
P-I-Z-Z-A
P-O-O-L
N-A-P
C-O-O-K-I-E

Jack is old enough now to know that when we spell something, it is usually something he likes. A LOT. Like P-I-Z-Z-A

This morning, I asked Jack what he wanted for breakfast. He looked around the refrigerator and cabinets and then spelled out A-L-O-A-Y.

Not knowing what it is, but knowing that it must be something he would love!

Summer Static

2010-06-18T06:13:00.000-04:00

First year teaching in Baltimore City Public Schools - Done.
Adjusting to school, transfer, readjusting to new school - Done
First year working with two kids - Done.

I'm hoping that this year marks the end of a very long list of life-altering transitions and getting-used-to's that Ev and I have been through over the past 5 years. Marriage (once). New jobs (twice). Moving (twice). Pregnancy (twice). Kid (twice). Shall I go on?

Of course, life will bring change (and another kid? perhaps?), but I'm hoping for at least one whole year of "the same".

This summer, I'm going to enjoy being static. I'm going to spend more time with the boys and write everyday. And, I swear, I will clean out those closets. And the cabinets, too.

Sayonara, first year teaching in Baltimore - I will not miss you!

Some Favorites

2010-04-27T05:54:00.005-04:00

There are so many incredibly sweet and hilarious things that Jack and Ben do right now.

Here are some favorites:

Jack:

- Every morning, he asks for his breakfast:

Toast, not toasted, with butter, not melted, and peanut butter

That means:

A piece of bread with butter spread on half and peanut butter on half

Toast, not toasted but toasted, etc.

That means, yes, toast the bread. I don't know where he came up with this 1/2 peanut butter 1/2 butter stuff.

- He threw up a couple of months ago for the first time in a long time, and it truly traumatized him. Now, he asks if he's going to throw up almost every night before bed. That is not the funny part.

Yesterday, out of nowhere, he said to me, When I threw up, I couldn't even yawn. Then he got real close to my face and added, Can you imagine that?

Jack made up his first song. We knew he'd be a musician. The words are:
Hug, hug, hug
A man is supposed to
Hug, hug, hug
A lady is supposed to
Hug, hug, hug
And I am supposed to
Hug, hug, hug
Because it is very, very niiiiiiiice.....

Not bad! See for yourself here .

Ben:

Benny is just about 1.5 years old, and I have to say, it's not my favorite age. I felt this way with Jack, too. There is a lot of hitting and pulling, all out of love and excitement, but it still hurts.

He says thank you.

He loves to read, but is scared of books with finger puppets.

He smiles every time his music class CD comes on.

In music class, he likes to take a lap around the circle and then collapse in my lap.

When he doesn't want something, he shakes his head no, almost violently.

His favorite word: "Jack"

I love their details. Don't want to forget 'em.

Time Fairies

2010-04-04T08:07:00.007-04:00

When my best and oldest friend, Kim, and I were little(ish) we made up a myth to understand the elusiveness of time. It had something to do with fairies who did a bunch of things I can no longer remember to either speed or slow down time. We would meet on the curb everyday after school and talk about if the time fairies made the day seem extraordinarily quick or endless.

This week was my spring break. I had the boys for a couple of days (and will on Monday) when their daycare was closed for Passover, but I technically also had three whole days to myself. Normally I would be relishing in this relaxing glory, trying to enjoy every moment of freedom, and emerge from the days like an old Brenda I once knew.

I did have a wonderful time; got some important stuff done (taxes) and fun stuff done (haircut) and sweet stuff done (swanky lunch date with Evan).

But I am still exhausted.

I feel like none of it happened. Like the time fairies sped up each moment and left me in a time warp expecting Tuesday to be my first day off, when, in fact, Tuesday is the day I must return to work. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I haven't graded a single essay, I've got no plans for my students...I cannot even imagine...

I'll deal. I always do. Because, of course, the resiliency of human nature can deal with MUCH worse than exhaustion and lack of time to yourself. There will be lesson plans and (some) graded essays.

I am a spoiled American for even considering, but here's my wish to the time fairies:

One more week off work. I would take the boys to day care in the morning, write poetry for a couple of hours, sit outside and drink coffee, read The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (amazing!), keep the house clean, watch a movie (I just caught up on Slumdog Millionaire!) , shave my legs, get Evan's tattoo (the circle/star on his arm that I've been wanting to put in the same place on my arm for years now), clean out the closets and cabinets, get a pedicure, run in the sun, listen to favorite old songs, go shoe shopping with Elizabeth, return our long overdue library books, pick the kids up early, play in the park or in the backyard, take a walk with them in the neighborhood picking "flowers" (pretty weeds), visit Phoebe and Sarah, Mark, Noah and Will, eat pizza together at our picnic table.

As I write this, I realize that most of these things can happen while I'm working...there is a time called after work and a time called weekend.

I had an uncle who died when I was 14. For my Bat Mitzvah, he wrote me a speech that he never read, because we were all dancing and he didn't want to interrupt the fun. I didn't find this out until years later, when his partner died and left me a few of Uncle Barry's things, the speech intact. I think about it often. The last line is:

Remember, the happiness you feel today can be yours everyday. It's just a matter of how you look at things.

Damn good advice.

A 3.5-Year-Old's Sense of Self

2010-03-19T06:07:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, I was talking with someone about self-esteem. My issues with my own self-esteem and self-efficacy stem from oh so long ago, but then this someone asked me:

What do you think of Jack's self-esteem?

She threw me off guard, and I had to think for a minute. I've thought before that Jack is a very empowered kid. He is a bit shy sometimes, but seems to be able to express himself in both what he wants and doesn't want; seems to have no problem expressing his opinions or when he feels wronged. But what about his actual self-esteem?

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a model prewriting assignment for my students' identity essay. I modeled the elements that make up my identity, and being a mother was the first thing I discussed. I wrote:

Three things I hope my children learn as they grow are the power of kindness, self-esteem, and a love for education.

When answering this question about Jack's self-esteem, I became nervous. What if I think he has high self-esteem but in reality, he doesn't? What then?

We give him the love and support to build it; to know that no matter what happens, no matter if he succeeds or fails (right now that all revolves around whether he succeeds or fails in pooping in the potty!), we will always love, support and believe in him. The power of this is beyond measure, and I believe it is what builds that original brick of self-esteem.

We had our first incident of Jack not fitting in with his peers at the Purim celebration at school. Evan wrote about that for Baltimore Magazine here. Peers will undoubtedly affect his self-esteem, and we have no control over how people will treat him when we're not around to punch them in the face (just kidding!) We can only teach him to make good choices for himself and in friendships.

Parenting is mind-blowing. These little people and personalities are being shaped in a large way by MY words, actions and choices. Nothing is scarier.

I'd like to ask those of you who have older children who are well-rounded, positive people to discuss your opinion of your role in helping to build and sustain their self-esteem.

Please...Help!

Two Weeks Ago

2010-02-27T08:30:00.003-05:00

I wrote this while we were snow shut-ins two weeks ago, when Baltimore city all but closed down. Since then, I've been so busy getting back into the routine of our lives, that I haven't been writing. Here are some thoughts that came up that week:

We've been stuck inside together for an entire week of snow days. Too much of a good thing. I was starting to lose my shit a little bit on Friday. In the spirit of the grass is always greener, I am ashamed to admit that I've recently thought, What was I so stressed about as a stay at home mom? I remember being stressed and anxious a lot of the time last year. Well, this year, everything from getting dressed for work to having to discipline teenagers has been stressful, so I was thinking how wonderful it was when I could just stay in my pajamas with babies.

And it is wonderful in so many ways, but even though as a working mom you are stretched so incredibly thin in every direction, there are moments (just moments) of time to yourself or becoming engrossed in something other than babies, and do not have to stop everything for every need, cry, diaper change, pull on your pajama pants, pull on the hair, scream in the ear or attention seeking game.

It is grueling. As a working mom, the time spent with the kids is so precious. I give them 100% of my attention most (again, ashamed to say, not all) of the time we are together. While staying home with them this week, I became consumed by all the house cleaning and need to escape through TV and the internet. I haven't been on Facebook so much since my first week on!

Here are some highlights of our snow week:

* Blowing bubble gum bubbles with Jack on the couch, and hearing him screech in delight while popping them

*Playing with Benny, who is so sweet and mushy in the morning

* Alternating playdates with our friends and neighbors, Sarah, Noah and Will

* Listening to Jack and Noah talk, plan and scheme

* Taking a walk with Ben strapped to my chest, looking wide-eyed at the immense snow and the quiet, bright streets. Jack jumping in the slush by our side.

No Sequence But Luck

2010-02-08T07:51:00.003-05:00

My new poetry chapbook debuted with a reading in NYC this past weekend. We almost didn't make it with Jack's Thursday fever and Baltimore's impending snow storm. Once we realized on Friday that Jack was feverfree and New York was (surprisingly!) only going to be hit with 2-4 inches, we bolted out of town just as the snow began falling in Bmore.

The weekend was fabulous. So great to connect with old friends. So great to be in Brooklyn and walk to everything. And even though Brooklyn is my absolute favorite place of all time to live, the reality of all of us squished in a small two bedroom apartment was not effortless. I can imagine that with all of our stuff, and with the way Evan and I let the clutters pile up, I'd probably go crazy multiple times a week. (Brooklyn friends with kids - you are amazing!) It was nice to love Brooklyn as a place to visit and not be sad that I don't live there any longer (AKA, the last time we visited). Same to Jersey City. It was awesome to see our friends; how well everyone is doing; how beautifully all the kids are growing. I might have been sad if we entered our house there or Evan and Amy's house. I'm loving Baltimore right now and finally feeling settled, but the trade-offs of moving are still difficult sometimes.

The reading itself went well. I might have been a little quiet and monotone, but there was a point when Jack came on the stage with me, and he loved it. That made all the nerves go away. So did the vodka.

I like these poems. They are mostly old work, some very old. Poems that I never let go of that needed a place to be out and about in the world. Now they are, and I can move on to other words.

This summer will be the first time in years that I can devote everyday to writing. My plan is to keep the kids in daycare in the mornings and pick them up early in the afternoon. That way I can spend more time with them AND poetry. I can't wait!

When we came back to Baltimore, we couldn't even turn onto our street, the snow was so intense. It still is. Schools are cancelled. No work today! (Though I love my new school and will definitely write more about that later) The city has basically shut down. Hot chocolate, movies and popcorn today!

Thank you to Mariana and 3 Sad Tigers press. Mariana did an amazing job, and I'm totally impressed with her skills (this is 3 Sad Tigers' first chapbook - you'd never know it). I can't wait to see the next chapbook she publishes, or her next project. It will certainly be beautiful.

Thank you to my sister-in-law, Steph, who designed the cover. I couldn't have asked for a better, more interesting, more intricate cover. See her incredible paintings here.

I am basically out of my free copies to give to friends and family (don't worry, Dad, yours is on the way!) If you want to buy a copy from 3 Sad Tigers press ($7) see details here

Hello Candidate C,

2010-01-23T07:31:00.029-05:00

Well, yesterday was my last day as a 7th grade Language Arts teacher. Due to a ridiculously over-projected budget, I have to be transferred to another school. I'll be returning as a 9th grade English teacher at a high school that seems to be amazingly run, supportive, with a smart, accountable, positive and responsive staff. All in all, once I get through ANOTHER transition of being the new teacher, having to prove myself, being tested, setting up my rules, boundaries and adjusting to a new schedule, new people, new curriculum, etc....it should be fine. Better than fine. This might end up being the most positive school environment I've ever worked in.

But, let me just point out a few ways that BCPSS has fucked me:

1. I was hired in mid-August, after waiting FOR MONTHS (more on that here ). Began at a school the Thursday before the Monday the students were to arrive. On Friday, I was told that I would not be allowed to teach in Baltimore City because my license wouldn't transfer. On Tuesday, after a whole day with the certification department. I was told that all I need to do is present a passing New York test score. Which I had. Then all was okay. On Wednesday, I started teaching.

2. I have never been treated like such garbage or as unprofessionally as I was treated at this school. The administration made it clear that I was doing it all wrong. They gave me no time to adjust. "Support" meant observing seasoned teachers in the school (which I TRULY appreciated, because they were great, third grade while I taught seventh, but great) followed, I kid you not, by the statement Let me make this crystal clear, I need to document that I'm giving you support. Here is your support.

At the end of my stint at this school, I was complimented by the admin about my professionalism, improvement and conscientiousness toward kids. I thank them for that, and will remember it the next time I question whether or not I'm an effective teacher. If I proved it to them, it must be true!

3. After Thanksgiving break, I found out that I was to be transferred. I was told, maybe December. Maybe in a couple of weeks. You'll hear from North Avenue (BCPSS headquarters). I still had to teach, not tell the kids, and figure out a way to invest in my classes and students without investing too much.

4. I got a letter the other day saying that my employment would be terminated at the end of this school year if I didn't finish the credits (40!) and test scores for a professional license. I called. Oops, they forgot to update those New York test scores....should be fine...I'll have to call again to make sure.

5. As said, my last day in 7th grade was yesterday. Monday, I'm to start 9th grade. The city gives absolutely no time to transition. Any planning, learning curriculum, meeting other teachers at the new school has to be done after the full-time job of teaching at the current school. I'm exhausted. And still not really prepared for Monday. I know I'm not alone when I say I can only concentrate on one job at a time! And I'm not even completely finished with 7th grade, because our internet at school went out on my last day, so I wasn't able to turn in grades. Sigh.

That said, I am still so grateful to be teaching again. And teaching public school children.

Teaching high school English was my first real profession. After a few years line cooking and leading a camp kitchen making 400 pancakes and huge batches of minestrone soup (remind me to write about the time 100 corn dogs slipped off a pan and onto my face. True story.) Anyway, teaching was my first real profession. When I was a kid, I knew that was what I was supposed to do. After five years in the New York City DOE, I wasn't sure any longer. I was still overwhelmed with anxiety before many classes, still cried about the helplessness felt when not able to do your best due to cookoo circumstances beyond your control, still too sensitive to meanness. I thought, Guess I'm just not cut out for this.

So, I entered the nonprofit world. Learned a ton. Had flexibility. Was treated professionally (most of the time). But I never loved it. Never had the same amount of passion for it. It was very good work...a Big Brothers Big Sisters Program...enhancing the lives of children...but I never felt the same amount of pride in the work.

I am grateful to have a passion. As intense as the work is, teaching is the best job in the world. I love witnessing students' growth - academically and otherwise. I love the relationships developed with them and other educators; the way educators think about the world and relaying the world to young people. It all inspires me so much.

It was a hard goodbye to 7th grade. I was really getting better at it, and accepting their constant flux. I met some great teachers and began friendships I hope will continue on (We started a Friday-teacher-bar tradition that I'll certainly continue in!) I told the students on Thursday. They were sad. I was sad. But it was enough time to be sure they knew that my leaving had nothing to do with them. It was enough time for closure, which they don't often get when adults leave their lives.

A student said to me, But we're your family. I'm truly going to miss those guys.

Even the ones who were so challenging, because it's those students whose necks you want to wring (metaphorically....of course) who make you a better teacher. And as crazy as this school is, it also made me a better teacher.

So, as I begin a new school, I am nervous and excited, ready to plow through the difficult adjustment, until it feels like family.

There. Now I Won't Forget This Important Stuff...

2010-01-17T08:29:00.002-05:00

Benny started walking. 14 months. He walks both like a penguin and sideways. Quite a sweet sight.

And his teeth started coming in. 13 months. I guess, since they are a little late, four are coming in at once. Two on top, two on bottom. Poor Benny.

He's not complaining much, though. Still smiling and side-walking up to strangers to sit in their laps and give hugs. He especially loves ladies' laps. At what age does that start to be inappropriate?

Jack is in the ever-long process of potty training. He loves standing up to pee in the potty (who wouldn't?), but refuses to poop on the potty (and we suckers bought him a fancy one with its own toilet paper roll, too, thinking that would make all the difference. FYI, it makes no difference at all.)

Evan has a very distinct memory of his mom getting annoyed with him while potty training. One day, exasperated, she just said something like, Come on already!! She explains it as once she was able to have complete conversations with Ev about poop, it just didn't seem fair to have to see and smell and wipe it for him.

Until now, we didn't get it. It's true that sometimes I want to yell, Come on, Jack, you're old already! Okay, often I want to yell this. Ev does too.

One day we'll just have one set of poops to change.

Oh, the bodily functions that you never thought you'd talk or care so much about. I knew I had turned the parent corner the time I held Jack's poop in my bare hand. And Benny's vomit on my neck.

Remember this, kids, when you're 13!!

Hey look at this. It is true that we'll do anything stop having to change diapers:

City of Angels

2010-01-10T08:59:00.004-05:00

It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks! Snow, surprise snow days (three free days off of work WITH kids in daycare - I felt like a real person again), vacation LA, back to Baltimore, 2010, back to work...

Now that life is back in routine, I've had time to reflect on the LA trip. It was sweet in many ways. I love watching my dad play with his grandsons. I've never seen him so happy, and he engages with them so lovingly. And my mom, I've never seen her as happy as when she's looking at these boys. She has trouble engaging, but she smiles at them a lot.

My sister, though, that was the toughest part about this trip.

I've written a bit about Michelle and her situation here. I've seen her a few times a year for the past 11 years, and each time, she gets a little bit less able. Less social skills, less patient, less tolerable. As sad and shameful as this is to admit, I could barely tolerate her on this trip. The only way I can think to describe it is to say that she has an insatiable need for attention. Giving in to that need does nothing to lessen it. If you have plans with her that evening, she will ask you every 10 minutes if those plans are still on. If she's nervous about something, she becomes obsessed, and unfortunately, the more you try to appease her, the worse her anxiety gets. And she is nervous about something almost every minute of the day.

I am convinced that she is on the autistic spectrum, though no formal tests have been administered. Some signs:

* She has no sense of other people's comfort or discomfort.
* Everything revolves around her needs that she is unable to directly express.
* She lacks compassion.
* Her social skills are those of a small child.
* She makes lists of numbers that are nonsensical.
* She has a scarily intense memory.
* She knows every US Senator for every US state (AND what they believe in. She loves politics, but is, unfortunately, a diehard Republican).

Evan, my mom and I got some kind of food poisoning or stomach bug for a day. When I had it, she began to cry, saying, "Now, you'll never come back to visit me." When my mom was sick, she hounded her with questions about how this would interrupt their plans. She would not leave my mom alone to recover, and even shouted at her for being ill.

Of course, Jack was affected by her, too.

The last time he saw her was on his 2nd birthday. He was still young enough to be fascinated by her mannerisms and way of speaking. He thought it was hilarious when she laughed heartily, leaned in too closely and spoke a mile a minute at an increasingly intense volume. But this time around, he was old enough to notice her differences and be scared of them. She was relentless even after several conversations my dad and I tried to have with her about not bombarding a 3-year-old:

Jack, want to go on a walk with me?
Jack, do you want to go on a walk with me?
Jack...
Jack, do you like me?
Jack, do you really like me?

Finally, Jack answered her:
No!

Then she told him that he wasn't a nice boy, and I decided to step in. I told her why she can't say that to a 3-year-old, but I don't think she really got it.

There were some fun times that they had together dancing to Elvis CDs in Michelle's bedroom, see:

Yesterday was Michelle's 37th birthday. She doesn't go to school, have a job, have a friend, have a life of her own at all. It is shameful. She is perfectly capable of working, having friends, even living on her own (with assistance, perhaps), but there have been so many years denying a disability, that now she feels that she doesn't need any help at all. She screams and hollers anytime help is mentioned.

The one thing she likes to do is go to the library. She signs up for a computer, puts on her headphones, makes a list, and gets to work! She has a notepad where she writes the URLs of all the websites she wants to look at. She crosses them off her list as she goes, with the professional demeanor of an administrator.

Behind Michelle's back, I asked the head of the library if he was hiring and if there was a program there for hiring people with special needs. Surprise, due to budget cuts, they were not hiring, but he said she could volunteer. I tried to convince her to volunteer. She lied, as she often does, and pretended that she talked to him about that already and couldn't volunteer until February. Or something like that.

She wants to work. I've tried in the past to get her to go to places that can truly help her, with social workers and such. She refuses. My parents refuse to make her. This time I gave her an ultimatum.

She wants to come to Baltimore for Passover, but I told her that she couldn't come visit until she at least tried to go to a place that can help her. I've talked to her and my dad about The LA County Regional Center several times in the past. She must at least check it out before she visits here. And if this doesn't happen, we will not be staying with them during our next visit. As much as I HATE ultimatums, at this point, they need some pressure to make a change. The only thing I can do now is add that pressure.

(No, I'm not pregnant again! This photo was taken when she visited us for Jack's second birthday!)

Snowy Serpies

2009-12-20T07:23:00.010-05:00

Growing up in LA, I have no memories of snow or snow pants, sledding or the like. There is no childlike joy when I think of a huge hill covered in white. I see the excitement on Evan's face when the stuff is falling, and know that I've missed out on something great. Yes, in LA, we got to be outside all year round, riding bikes in t-shirts (its own joy). I honestly thought that "winter" was what they liked to call the months December and January, and that April showers bring May flowers was just something people liked to say...a nice rhyme.

As an adult, I'm loving these snow days - the first 24 hours, anyway, before it turns icy, slushy and disgustingly dirty, and I have to figure out how to drive in it. I remember my first year in NYC, when I had to figure out how to walk in it. There was a moment while trying to cross 33rd Street (probably in sneakers or some clueless shit like that) when I stopped, exasperated, and said OUT LOUD, "How are you supposed to DO this?" (See friend's very accurate description of this here. Nice job, Bobby :)

As a parent, these are the days when I get to hang around inside with my family, watching movies and drinking hot chocolate. And there is absolutely nothing I'd rather be doing!

Jack is old enough now to watch part of a movie, and Ben is young enough to nap through it. I still don't have the right gear to go outside for long (after 10 years on the east coast, haven't figured that out yet), but Jack does. He made that snowman (above), snow angels (which he keeps calling "snow flakes"), and we had a tiny snowball fight.

The best part...we have no plans! We always have plans (kids' festivals, mostly - remember we are festival whores...I mean, connoisseurs).

These days, I am so aware that we are making traditions for Jack and Ben. Family memories that I hope they think back on fondly.

So they'll still want to hang out with us in 20 years!

Jack's Gear

My Snow Angels

Yuck Morning of Diarrhea and Vomit

2009-12-12T10:26:00.004-05:00

Add:

vomiting milk all over me, himself, and the couch

to the previous post

Toothless Ben

2009-12-12T06:47:00.008-05:00

Benny has no teeth. We don't know where they are! We make jokes about a toothless Bar Mitzvah boy lisping his way through his Torah portion. It seemed very funny.

But now that he's 13 months old, I'm starting to worry a bit. Considering how much I worry in life, I'm actually surprised that I'm not the "worry type" of a mom (or at least I don't consider myself to be) And compared to my mom, who is so worried that Benny has no teeth yet that she asks me every single time we talk what is "wrong with him." (She's not quite the "supportive type" of a mom). Anyway, compared to her, I'm actually EASY GOING. But, really...where are Ben's teeth?

We blame everything on teething and have for many, many months.

Things we blame on teething:

runny nose

dry nose

diarrhea

toxic diarrhea

constipation

crying of all types

eczema

ear wax

waking up at 4:00am or 4:30am or 5:00am

a new hatred of bananas

What will we blame these on when he has teeth...or if he has teeth?

tiny things

2009-11-26T14:43:00.031-05:00

To copy my friend's awesome blog, I want to acknowledge the everyday, small things to be thankful for alongside the very large things and people who I love and appreciate every single day. These five things make my day and heart run smoother and happier:

1. Cafe Bustelo

Probably doesn't make my heart run smoother, but definitely makes me happier. Some mornings, the only way I can be happy about being up so early is to think about how delicious and satisfying those first few sips of coffee are. The perfect temperature. Super-strong. Bitter. The only thing I missed during my pregnancies.

2. The Strokes, Is This It?

This album reminds me of so much: Being pregnant with Jack and thanking the Lord for earplugs when we were at the Rolling Stone 40th Anniversary party. The Strokes were playing live, blasting Someday. After Jack, getting back into shape to The Modern Age. Jack singing and kicking his legs to the beat of Soma

in his car seat with his giant sunglasses this past summer. This album instantly makes me happy to be ALIVE, in all the glorious sense of that word.

3. The students who stay after school some days to wash my chalk board.

I HATE washing the board. I am terrible at it and leave chalk streaks everywhere. The kids really scrub and go at it, seem to love it. They do a fantastic job. Along this line, the students who knock the paper airplanes kids throw into my classroom's ceiling are also greatly appreciated. (This might count as a large thing to be grateful for.)

4. Peanut Butter and Jelly.

I have a PB and J sandwich every day for lunch. Quick, easy, satisfying.

5. Milton' s Secret.

This is a book that our lovely neighbors in Jersey City sent to Jack. It's one of those not really kids books, focusing around Milton, a happy-go-lucky boy who one day gets bullied by a much bigger boy, Carter, at school. That same day, Milton's cat, Snuggles, gets bullied (and bitten) by Brutus, the mean dog up the street. As Milton literally loses sleep over worrying about Carter, Snuggles gets over his incident very quickly. Milton asks his grandfather how Snuggles can be so happy after being brutalized by Brutus, and his grandfather explains the philosophy of living in The Now. Jack adores this story, and wants us to read it to him almost every night. So, almost every night I am reminded to try to live in The Now and stop waking up in the middle of the night worried about The Future...or The Past...or The Now. I'm still struggling with insomnia many nights, but Milton's Secret reminds me to try appreciate my immediate surroundings. One morning we heard the author on Speaking of Faith. Here. My hero.

Happy Thanksgiving. Thanks.

No Sleep = Tears

2009-11-14T08:39:00.032-05:00

Don't EVER let the students see you cry.

I've been told that by several teachers and non-teachers alike. It seems everyone knows the doom that ensues after students see their teacher cry of frustration (that they collectively cause).

Well, students have seen me cry.

Twice in the past three weeks.

In the five years I taught high school, I only remember crying in front of students once...outside of class when talking to two students privately. I cried many, many times in front of Evan or other teachers or on the subway or on my walk to school or alone or with friends...but not in front of students.

Well, something is making me extra teary these days. It is lack of sleep (insomnia, not Jack or Benny's fault). Both times I cried at school I was just as shocked as the students were. Did not see it coming. Both times I did not get enough sleep the night before and the rude or mean or annoying things that students say or do to me or each other just got to me...in an unexpectedly deep way.

The first time was when an extremely troubled student (who I later found out had just been moved from her aunt's home to a foster home) was just messing with me. One thing after another...graffiti on my window sill, balling and throwing her detention letter (that I gave her for something else) at me, running around the classroom, etc, etc, etc. When she took my timer and refused to give it back, pretending to throw it, goading me along. I walked out of the classroom to tell the person who acts as a "dean" and just burst into tears. The "dean" took over my classroom for a few minutes while I went to the bathroom, splashed water on my red face and tried to get it together. When I walked back into class, I technically wasn't crying any longer, but it was so obvious that I had just been crying. Most of the students were sweet about it, asking me if I was okay. They got mad at the student who took my timer (which I found placed in the middle of my desk after returning to class - she got suspended for the graffiti and throwing the paper at me). Word spread around the 7th grade about my tears. All day students were asking me if I was okay, or why I cried, which was sweet, but embarrassing.

The next time happened this past week. After another night of very little sleep (again, insomnia). Students got their tests back from me and two girls were upset about their grade. One of them ripped up her test and threw it on the floor. I asked her to clean it up. She refused. She got detention. That should have been the end of it.

But when she and the other girl started shouting about how I gave good grades to my "favorite" students, that I give special treatment to some students...well, that struck a raw nerve. I got very angry at them and explained when that is hurtful to me and the students who deserved the good grade they received. It was then time for the students to go to their next class. After they left, I sat down, so angry that I didn't realize some students were still in the room. I started to cry. The students who saw me were so worried about me, that they got the AP to help me. About five students came back into my room to help. They cleaned up my classroom. They listened to me with these worried little faces while I explained to the AP that what happened was not a big deal, I just didn't get enough sleep. The principal (who is never on our floor) just happened to be walking by. She saw the scene of kids, me crying, the AP and came in. Then I had to explain to her why this adult is crying in front of children about something that was rude and annoying, but not an out of the ordinary occurrence at our school.

Talk about humiliating.

And again, the wildfire that spread through the entire 7th grade.

The good thing that came out of this, though, is that the administration now knows how much mutual care exists between my students and I. And I now know that it's mutual. They stood up against their peers to help me. That is amazing. Even I (my toughest and most negative critic) can see that I must be doing something right here.

Tough kids. Tough school. Tough administration. Sensitivity is not valued. Kindness is not particularly valued. Vulnerability is DEFINITELY not valued. But I can't help who I am. While I know that I cannot keep crying in front of the children, I hope that they are learning from me that it is okay to cry. That it is not only a "sign of weakness". I can cry, have a bad day, and come back and love them just the same. Doesn't that mean something too?

In a perfect world, I would call in sick when getting such little sleep, but at this point that would be at least once a week. I can't do that.

So how do I toughen up?

I have to toughen up.

Because it is not the students' responsibility to make sure their teacher is okay. I don't want them to worry that I'll leave the school. ( I've had a couple of students ask me that when they see me upset. They've had teacher after teacher after teacher leave. Every teacher in the middle school (except two) is brand new to the school this year. The turnover of adults in their lives is horrible.)

On the other hand, if what I'm remembered for this year is that I was too nice and too sensitive, I can seriously live with that. I can sleep at night.

If only I could sleep at night.

One Year

2009-11-07T10:02:00.017-05:00

Dear Benny,

Your first year went by too fast.

I remember when you were so tiny that I changed you on a night-table, and now you're pulling yourself up every second you can. You want to be bipedal. You refuse to crawl most of the time, just scoot yourself along commando style.

During your labor, there were several hours of waiting. We were on the top floor of Mercy Hospital which looks out onto Highway 83. I wrote a poem about it, a work in progress, but my favorite lines are:

births are moments seen from the highway

and

the astriding moments of your heart

One day I'll finish that poem for you.

You are complimented constantly on your happiness and incessant smile. There is only one time in your life when you were unhappy. That was last month when you had a fever. Mostly, your love of life inspires me.

You love puzzle pieces, tennis balls, blocks, having a social life and your family, your brother especially.

Right now you say mama, dada and jack.

At your birthday party, I said "You got it!" after you reached the football you were going for. Then you said "I got it." in your own way.

You have no teeth.

This year you went from being with me all the time to being in daycare full time, and you took it all in stride. No crying, no complaints. That also inspires me.

And we all love you so much.

Happy Happy Birthday!

Love,

Mommy

Watch How Sweetly Jack Waves

2009-10-24T07:41:00.002-04:00

Jack and Evan were on TV.

Evan went to the local news station yesterday to promote Baltimore Magazine's Top Doctors issue. Jack saw Ev on TV the last time he went on to promote Baltimore Magazine, and since then, he's been asking, "How do you get on TV?" Evan decided to take Jack with him so he could see the cameras and studio, since we keep trying to explain what those things are.

You can see when Ev gets distracted as they bring Jack over.

And Jack's wave is so damn cute!

Sunny Days

2009-10-21T16:45:00.021-04:00

I want to document this before I forget and write another blog post about how hard teaching is, how much I resemble a tired looking skeleton, and how I feel like I'm drowning in all the demands of being: mom, wife, teacher, person who wishes I had more time to hang out with friends, person with little to no time to myself, person who never gets to exercise anymore, etc in the negatives...

Anyway, I want to document how awesome the past two days have been at work because I need to read this the next time I have a student throw a book at another student's head.

The past two days have been great. My classes have been working! I've been able to take a small group of kids and teach a particular skill WHILE the other students are working INDEPENDENTLY. I've watched kids that are trying to be "hard" or "combative" melt when I put their names on the wall for doing something good. And melt further when I put a check next to their names for doing something extra, extra good.

My new system of classroom management: candy. As a class they need to get enough tickets in my bag for everyone to get a piece of candy. They get tickets for positive behavior and words, and tickets pulled out of the bag for negative behavior or words. It's working for the most part. They love candy. Really what they love is doing an awesome job and getting recognized for something positive, but right now, they just think they love candy. Hopefully, soon, I'll wean them off the candy and it will be enough to say, "Hey, so-and-so, you did AWESOME today!" For now, I'm sticking to whatever works to help me get through my lesson and prove that I can manage my classes!

But I also want to document the 12-13-year-olds who are so sweet that I melt. This is what I want to remember when I hear, "No, Miss, you never told me to do that!":

There's the boy who saw another student throw a girl's bag out of the window. He saw me angrily going to retrieve the bag (this happened right after school a few weeks ago). He ran in front of me, walked onto the rocky path where her bag was and got it. When I talked to him about how cool that was, he told me that he didn't want me to "fall on the rocky path." (I swear they think I'm 100 years old! This proves that I look like a tired, old skeleton these days.)

There's the student who I heard say, "Paul, can you pass me the blue marker, please."

This is a girl with severe ADHD who curses like a madman, and this is what I heard DIRECTLY FROM HER MOUTH today.

There's the girl who always wants to stay after school and help me put something on the walls or grade papers with me.

There's the girl who finishes everything first, and on her own decided she wanted to help the other students in class. And she really does. She's not just talking to them. She's walking around helping them with suffixes!

There's the tallest boy in school who helps me reach things. (Even though he talks constantly and pays me no mind in class, he is so incredibly nice to me outside of class. This happens often. A student will say loud enough for me to hear "I HATE this class." or "She's so PETTY" (petty = slang for anything bad) And then yell hello and wave to me across the loud and crowded lunch room.)

There's more, too. But I've got to go pick up my own kids now.

Hopefully, there will be many more sunny days to document!

My Least Favorite Thing About Baltimore

2009-10-11T06:19:00.034-04:00

Yesterday we went to a "party in the park" at a park that I guess is really not a PARK as I would use the word, but a private club in Timonium. It was fun. There were crafts for parents to look at and buy and bouncy houses for kids to go crazy in. And Milkshake played. Jack loves them. They're not bad at all for a band that plays for kids. I find myself singing along often.

Evan and I have talked a lot about the segregation of festivals here in Baltimore and Baltimore County (see Evan's blog post about this here) because we are festival whores who attend just about all of them with kids in tow, but this one was Ri-Di-Cu-Lous. I swear, the only diversity I saw were the two teenage boys who worked the ice cream venue, the man who grilled the yummy smelling grilled meat, and the apparently adopted toddler. (Evan feels that he saw more diversity than this...but I don't believe him. I took a pretty good look around, even though I was feeling a cold coming on.)

It is amazing to me how uncomfortable I feel in a situation of all White people. It's even worse if everyone is Jewish. Considering I'm such a White Jew, and honestly proud to be a Jew, I'm trying to figure out what makes me so uncomfortable. It could be the years of living in Brooklyn, and Jersey City especially, where such a diverse group of people and neighborhoods makes living there so interesting and fun. It could be the years working in NYC public schools and Catholic Charities in Brooklyn, which has probably the most diverse staff in the country!

Is it that I found the people yesterday to be a more conservative lot, and that is what made me uncomfortable? No. Because even at the HonFest this summer, where we all proudly displayed our tattoos (and by "we all", I mean Evan and I, not the boys!), we noticed how strange it was that the crowd was so White.

And now that I'm working again in a school where 99% of the students are Black (I have one White student and 48 Black students.), I notice the segregation even more. How could I not? I keep thinking I'll run into one of my students at one of these festivals, but then I remember how little people travel out of their own neighborhoods here.

It makes me sad. Not sad, angry. Not angry, determined...wanting to do something that integrates this place a bit. But what? How?

I know that by just being a Jew who works with my students and becomes someone that they can trust, talk to or relate to makes a difference. Perhaps they never thought they'd get close to a White, Jewish lady before. But that doesn't seem to be enough right now. I guess WE can still keep going to the festivals where we are some of the few White people. Or I can make a field trip with my students to some of the "other" festivals.

It's terrible that this is how so much of America is. I've been privileged by what the diversity of growing up in LA County and living in NYC and Jersey City has given me. Having so little of it here feels like such a loss to me. A loss for my children.

It's like staying inside and jumping on your bed, while a giant, deluxe bouncy house has been set up around the corner.

Why Can't I Just SAY Thank You? Or Email This Nice Looking Card?

2009-10-03T15:27:00.026-04:00

I physically cannot write thank you cards. Jack's birthday party was over a month ago, and I have yet to send even one. It's not that I (we) aren't grateful (especially Jack, he is super grateful for all of his new toys). I just hate writing them so much. I agonize over every word, and they all sound so fake and fabricated and generic to me, even when I try so hard to say something specific. Because I truly am grateful for gifts. Gifts are so nice.

The worst was writing them to my aunt and cousins for Benny's gifts, because my uncle died about 2 weeks before Benny was born. Everything felt like the wrong thing to say in that situation. I think it took me about six months to write theirs.

I want to know who started this rule about thank you cards. And aren't we living in a time where a thank you email is the way to go?

I remember my parents forcing me to write and write thank you, thank you over and over again for all of my Bat Mitzvah gifts. A torture. Maybe that began my hatred of them. I didn't write another thank you card until my wedding. (Does that make me an ungrateful bastard?) That was torture, too. And I married someone who isn't too concerned with manners or thank you cards (or cleanliness) or that kind of stuff. So together, we were terrible. I think we even lost a page of our gift getting list on our honeymoon in Belize. None of those people got a thank you card. Sorry people.

Then Jack was born...we had a bris. Gifts, gifts, beautiful gifts. And more thank you cards. I think I eventually got to everyone that time, but, sadly, I can't say for sure.

I was hoping by now, by a third birthday, that I wouldn't have to continue this rule. Jack wasn't the first in his class to have a birthday party, so I waited to see what the other parents would do. Damn...we got a few from the other three-year-olds.

How long do I have to do this? For every gift ever given forever and ever? I have no recollection of my parents writing them for my younger birthday gifts.

I guess I should spend my very limited time more wisely, and instead of writing this complaint, I should just be writing the thank you's our friends and family deserve. I should get started. Right now.

Nursed

2009-09-19T18:20:00.031-04:00

Since I began teaching again, I've lost 6 pounds (am I complaining?). There have been a few, maybe three, nights that I've slept all the way until 5am (hey, I'm not asking much). Mostly, I've been up between 3-4:30am ruminating about, say, how a 12-year-old told me to get out of her f*ing face. Or how I didn't do something I should have. Or how everything would feel better if only I could find the time to exercise...

The anxiety has been off the charts, and I've had to make the choice to either stop nursing Benny and take some medicine or continue not eating or sleeping. If breathing wasn't involuntary, I probably wouldn't be able to do that either. So here we are. Hello Lexapro. Hello Xanax.

Anxiety is a terrible bully who visits me often and ruins all perspective of regular events. The first time I remember being aware of it was when I was 15 years old, crying on my bedroom floor, feeling completely alone and friendless even though I logically knew that I had friends. Great friends. Something just felt so wrong. And that's often how I describe it to people. An anxiety attack begins when every piece, portion and minute of your life feels wrong with no way for you to fix it. I sometimes know when anxiety is coming. I had an inkling that teaching again or just going back to work after not having worked for a year wold make me anxious. I could tell that starting after the students had already returned and having no time to prepare a class would cause some anxiety. But what has happened has been harder than I anticipated. I had to take a day off of work already due to a sleepless night and dysfunctional morning.

Teaching 7th grade is hard by itself. Couple it with crippling anxiety, and I don't think I'd be able to survive. Yes, I want to be a great teacher. But right now I'll settle for being okay and getting through the year (it is getting easier - my students are starting to respond to me - and my expectations are more appropriate for what 7th grade means). What I won't settle for is not being the best parent I can be. Somehow Jack and Benny have dealt with the transition into full time daycare well, but I'm sure they've noticed that their once available mom has become freakishly incapable of feeding them breakfast. That is not okay. I will not have my children grow up with a mom like that.

And so, I am mourning having to stop nursing. Jack nursed until he was 14 months old, and I figured it would be about the same for Benny. He has not made a fuss about it, barely seems to notice, actually, but I get sad when I feed him a bottle. I'm sure I'm also feeling some sort of hormone crash. In a perfect world, I would have been able to wean him slowly over the next few months. I loved nursing my children...felt so proud of my body for being able to do that...felt like I was giving them the best nourishment.

At this point, I'm not sure there will be another baby in my future. (Ask Evan that question, and you will get a definite answer: No more babies.) I am trying to make peace with the fact that I've had to stop what I consider to be prematurely. It is a loss. Sorry, Benny.

7

2009-09-15T20:19:00.005-04:00

It's 4:30am, and I've been up since 3:20am. this is what i know after three days of teaching 7th grade. it's hard. it requires more structure and organization than i've ever created in my life. it requires a much thicker skin. i have to say, i often love my thin skin. it makes me sensitive to people in ways that i am proud of. it helps me care. but, it is also going to make me sick. i cannot be up in the middle of the night. i can't eat or sleep when i'm so anxious. actually, considering i've had absolutely no time to prep my classes, i've done a good job in these three days - there has been some shitty behavior in my classroom, and i made the mistake of saying one thing and doing another regarding bathroom usage. but there has been some learning too. some good lessons. some positive relationships with students beginning to gel. and, some parents called.

Thus began my latest blog post two Friday early mornings ago. I never got to finish or publish it. I haven't done much of anything lately but teach, plan, grade, pick up and take care of the babies and occasionally kiss my husband.

It is exhausting. And kind of painful.

Getting a little easier, though. I'm getting into a routine. I'm less anxious. My classes are somewhat functioning. I'm not being tested by 12-13 year olds every single second...just every hour. I'm not crying (today...or yesterday...only on Fridays, it seems).

Here are some things about teaching 7th grade that are different from teaching high school:

- Paper airplanes. They love them. They make them constantly and throw them up to stick into the ceiling when you turn your back. I might actually vomit if I see another paper airplane.

- Lying. 7th graders seem to lie. A LOT. They are just too old to be honest all the time and too young to take responsibility for their annoying actions.

- If one person starts running or screaming, they all will.

- They care more about when their peers are annoyed with them than when I'm annoyed with them. I am starting to use that to my advantage.

-They like to throw things and shout out of windows.

-I-M-P-U-L-S-I-V-E

-They really care if you call their parent(s)

Hopefully I will find them to be endearing soon, too!

8/26/09 (This Is Long Overdue)

2009-09-02T05:58:00.005-04:00

Today is Jack's third birthday.

Some things I remember about Jack's first three years:

0-1

Jack's labor and birth: The insanity a woman's body goes through here. He was good to me: 8 hour labor. 15 minutes of pushing. Thank you, Jack.

Jack's first week of life was the best week of my life. Evan was home and the US Open was on, which might not seem special, but anyone who knows Ev knows how extra special the US Open makes everything. (We watched it during our honeymoon!) I was elated, then alternately crying out hormones. I kept staring at this little scrawny creature asleep in a bouncy seat on a rug on our apartment floor. Every day he made it out alive, I felt like, "Okay, I can do this! He lived!"

When Jack was a few months old, during his first winter in Brooklyn. He had this winter hat that made him look like a little animal. A bear, I think. He looked so adorable that people routinely stopped us in the street to go gaga over him.

I forget how old he was exactly, probably close to a year, when he initiated a game with me: rolling a ball back and forth to each other. Best game ever.

I went to this work out class when Jack was about 6 months old. The babies were in these jumper harness things so they could jump and play while the moms did push ups and ab-work and had a generally terrible time. All the other babies would jump like mad, but Jack would just lay back in the harness and sway a bit. Mellow guy.

1-2

The first song Jack and I sang together was that I love you, a bushel and a peck song. I didn't really know the words. The part that goes I'm talking in my sleep...about you. I used to sing it as I'm talking in my sleep...to you. Then, when Jack was about 14 months old, out of nowhere he sang that part with me in his brand-new, sweet voice...to you...

We lived in Jersey City at this time, and Jack was in daycare. After he started to walk, I'd let him walk part of the way up Newark Avenue. This would take FOR-EVER. Jack would stop to pick up every thing on the sidewalk ("No, no, not the cigarette!!") He would also stop at the guitar shop window and look at all those beautiful electrics. Sometimes there were two dobermans in the window that he would try to touch and talk to. Jack at this time was becoming a little shy around adults. He would burry his head into me when a friend of ours was saying hi, for example. But, he would walk up to every drunk on Newark Avenue (and there were a few) and want to talk to them. I remember thinking how he's going to love those shady characters in life.

We have a hallway in our Jersey City house between Jack's room and the bathroom. Evan and I used to give Jack baths together almost every bath (Ah the glories of having only one child!) Before and after his bath, Jack used to run down the hall naked and screaming.

There was an obsession with brooms at this time. Any house or apartment we went to. Jack would seek out the brooms and start to sweep. "He's going to be a neat-freak," we joked. Not the case.

Jack loved my in-laws' dog, Schnappy. We have several pictures of him kissing Schnappy. After we'd visit Baltimore and return to Jersey City, every dog he saw, he'd call Schnappy. One day at daycare, the caregivers told me he was saying something all day, and they just could not for the life of them figure out. "Is it SCHNAPPY?" I asked. Yes, it was.

2-3

We moved to Baltimore a couple of weeks after Jack turned two. I was 7 months pregnant, and Jack and I had a new two full days together during the week. We went to Gymboree, library events, Port Discovery...other kids' stuff. But the best thing I remember doing with Jack that fall is going to Meadowood Park and watching the high school girls' soccer games (they were really, really good. and serious!). We'd sit on the grass together eating our snacks and talking about the game. I was trying to teach him what soccer is and where they'd run to with the ball. Sometimes we'd bring our own ball and play.

One time, exasperated about something (most likely something small and insignificant, as usual) I gasped and said loudly "That's so annoying!" Jack looked at me, smiled, and said, "Annoying starts with the letter A." He learned that from Sesame Street.

When Jack wants attention, he sits next to you and says, "Let's talk together."

Favorite music: Dylan, Marley, Beatles, Strokes (that's because we're horrible parents who don't play kids' CD's in the car). And now, The Wiggles. When a song comes on that he likes, Jack needs to put on sunglasses and kick his feet.

He used to call his grandparents "Baba". When my parents visited last December. He looked at them all and said something like, "Look, it's Baba, Baba, Baba and Baba"

His cadence when speaking is one of my favorite things. Jack also mispronounces words and sometimes mixes up his t and c sounds. (When my oldest friend, Kim, visited in March, He kept calling her "Timmie". I absolutely love it!) I caught the day care ladies at the gym trying to correct him, "C-C-Cookie. It's C-C-Cookie" Don't do that! He'll get it right soon enough, and then I'll deepy miss his mispronounciations. They're like his own little accent.

Happy Birthday, my Jack!

I am honored to be your parent, and watching you grow is unbelievable cool!

I Took the Gun Out the Transformer's Hand

2009-08-24T05:16:00.072-04:00

Jack's third birthday party was this past Sunday. It was a good time. We served our favorite Jew food—bagels, lox, kugel—as Evan and I have at every party we've ever thrown together. We didn't stress too much over matching paper goods or a theme.

Actually, the theme was a natural extension of Jack's best interest: music. His music teacher led a class for everyone, bringing her real violin and a ton of tiny instruments the kids went bananas over. None of it was particularly boyish. Jack's favorite part: being covered in scarves and popping up like a jack-in-the-box.

Like I said, not particularly "boyish".

But at this birthday party, it became painfully obvious that I will no longer be looked at fondly if I keep buying him lavender and purple camouflaged lunch boxes and pink Mr. Happy t-shirts (Anyone who knows Jack well knows that's his favorite shirt. He even wore it to this party.) It seems the three-year-old birthday is where gender becomes clearly defined in gifts. Until now, birthday gifts have been mostly unisex toys or books, with the occasional, mildly masculine sports material or blue clothing. For this birthday, though, there were definitive boy toys everywhere. If my introduction to gender were through these toys, I'd learn that boys make cars go really, really fast. Not the worst thing in the world—and don't get me wrong, I appreciate all the gifts. Some of them were even arts related, and Jack is excited to play with each one. I can hang with that.

But...Jack also received his first toy with a gun. A transformer he calls "The Man." This transformer—unlike the ones of my childhood—does not, uh, transform into different machines or from man to machine or whatever it was they did back then to make the boys of my generation oooh and ahhh. This transformer just stands upright. A bulky piece of plastic that walks forward when you press that button on its remote control. It barks somewhat ironically, "I am fighter. I come in peace," when you press another. And the highlight? It raises its arm, points its gun at you and shouts, "Freeze! Drop It!" and makes what the remote refers to as "pistol sound."

Of course this is the toy Jack is most interested in. After the party, I brought in a few toys from the car to play with and left others for Ev to bring in later. Jack watched as I set down the cars, trains and Magic Doodle, looked me straight in the eyes and asked,

"Where's The Man?"

I went and got The Man.

While The Man was pointing its gun at me, making "pistol sound," I became increasingly uncomfortable. I cannot have this toy around. It is not okay to pretend to shoot someone. Not cool at all.

Yet, this is what's in store for us as the parents of two boys. We will constantly have to combat this image that boys are rough, do not wear pink shirts (one of my favorite fashion moments was when the hip hop movement reclaimed the male pink shirt), and like guns. I remember learning these What Boys Do/What Girls Do lessons when I was a child. I wanted to emulate my dad (play football! walk around without a shirt on!), but heard, "Girls don't do that!" from my mom countless times.

"What do girls do?" I wondered.

And not long after that, I developed a decade-long eating disorder.

This reminds me of the cringes that come over me when people tell Jack and Benny who their "girlfriends" are. Hey, maybe they'd rather have boyfriends. And if Jack wants to be covered in scarves all day, everyday, that's okay too!

And I've replaced the gun with a tiny maraca.

Now The Man raises its arm and points its maraca at us. Because it wants to play some music.

Hello Candidate B,

2009-08-21T06:17:00.042-04:00

Last Saturday, I was formally accepted into the Baltimore City New Teacher Pool and told (after months and months of waiting) that I will be able to teach English in Baltimore. It's been four years since I was a teacher in the NYCDOE, but upon moving to Baltimore, I knew I wanted to return to the classroom. I started the process of transferring my NY license in JANUARY in order to put myself in a position where I wouldn't be scrambling at the last minute for a school. But, like many other school systems, the last minute scramble is the status quo.

On Thursday, I interviewed at a high school that felt like a great fit. A big school with a proud history and an entirely new administration (that I loved, completely connected with). The interview went so well that I caught the administration smiling at each other.

"We'll call you tomorrow, Candidate."

Yesterday, I woke up at 4:30am with excitement, then waited in a state of half-anxiety. I could barely concentrate on anything else. I started planning lessons. I looked through all of my old materials. I tried to remember my system of classroom management consequences. I told the daycare workers at the gym:

"Sorry, we won't be coming back next week because I'll be working."

I gave an extra daycare ticket I had to a friend:

"We won't be able to use this because I'll be working...Yes, teaching...Yes, high school... English."

By 6pm, I'd heard nothing from the school and knew something was wrong. In all of these months of being a Candidate, my experience has been that the longer it takes someone to call back...well, not good news. I called the school and received a general answering machine, on which I did not leave a message. At 8:15pm the principal finally called me.

"We really liked you...

We wish we could hire you...

A displaced teacher wants this position...

There's nothing we can do...

Union rules...."

Teachers are to begin this Monday. I don't have a position or a school or any idea why I was told that particular high school had a vacancy at the same moment a teacher already in the system was allowed to take that vacancy. And for now? Monday I'll call my BCPSS HR-man and let him know that Candidate is still looking for a job.

Luckily, I am married to Evan, the eternal optimist. I swear, if I wasn't with Evan, I'd be wallowing in some deep waters right now. But Evan's positivity has worn off on me in ways that are so helpful and obvious to me. Evan's philosophy is that dipping into the dark side helps no one...that things will always work out...that we can get it done...especially together (the Jack Johnson song we danced to at our wedding -Better Together)...that you only need one day to pack up a house...that all of our furniture WILL fit in his parent's basement. I've argued with him ("We need to find a storage unit for our furniture!!!" ) But in the end, he is very often right. Most of the time, things do work out. And if they don't, there is another, better way. Another door opening. And it does feel better to think of the good.

It can be annoying to be married to someone who always looks on the bright side (really, aren't some days just MADE for being a downer?). And though his bright side sometimes clashes with my extreme worrying and anxiety, I am grateful for him and his attitude. For him, I think of a quotation from Wally Lamb's I'll Fly Away: Further Testimonies from the Women of York Prison:

When I count my blessings, I count you twice.

Back in the USSR is Magic

2009-08-16T13:42:00.028-04:00

Yesterday, we were on a long car ride where I sat next to Ben. He was in rare form: cranky, overtired, hysterical. I tried one thing after another:

food.

cover to food container.

water.

water bottle.

cap to water bottle.

ball.

toy.

my hand.

my bracelet.

my finger.

my ring.

The high-pitched wailing was for crazy making. Then I remembered BACK IN THE USSR. I yelled to Ev, who was driving, to quickly insert the Beatles CD. And sure enough, when that airplane (or bomb, is it?) came rushing in, Benny stopped crying and stared...then smiled...then laughed. This happened a few more times during the car ride, and we couldn't believe it...then WE were hysterical.

What is it about Back in the USSR?

I must complain for a second about this song. Not my favorite. Several, several other Beatles' songs are high on my list of things to listen to over and over and over again (I Will, While My Guitar Gently Weeps to name a couple). I never liked this boisterous song with its my my my my my my my my my minds. But, I'm starting to feel differently (and I might even buy that t-shirt!). With its magical powers, this song makes my children happy. It's like the way I now feel about Evan's snoring. At first, that was something to get used to, and (shall I say it?) I hated it! But when Jack and Benny were tiny babies co-sleeping in our room, I'm convinced that Evan's snores lulled them to sleep and reminded them of being in my womb, where they heard those sounds nightly.

I think this song calms Ben so much because it was Jack's absolute-100%-favorite when Benny was first born. We listened to it, oh, dozens upon dozens of times in the car. Ben was probably asleep most of that time, but somewhere, I believe he remembers how Jack would ask for his sunglasses, bop his head, smile and kick his feet to the beat of this song.

Ten years ago, I would most definitely have skipped this song on the CD (#1 as it is on my The Beatles: 1967-1970). Who knew it would become so special to me?

These Guys Are Awesome!

2009-08-14T21:45:00.005-04:00

If you're not familiar with, or even if you are but haven't heard this week's, Barbershop, take a listen or read the transcript. They're my favorite people on the radio right now...besides Amy Goodman, of course.

One + One = I Am Okay

2009-08-14T06:02:00.001-04:00

At the request of my very pregnant-with-her-second-child friend, Lori, I've compiled some ways Evan and I made the transition from child to children easier, ways that were somewhat forced upon us with their immediacy:

* Benny was three weeks early. I woke up at 3am, as I had been doing for the past few months, the day after the big election (in fact, while standing in line to vote, someone brought me a chair and told me not to have the baby there. "I still have THREE WEEKS to go," I laughed). I had fallen asleep in the middle of the country's poll closings (did I even make it for the midwestern results?) knowing that I'd be up in the next few hours. I opened our laptop to the headlines, and elated, spent hours watching the acceptance and concession speeches, reading online and enjoying the massive, emotional reactions on Facebook. I was just about to go back to bed when my water broke on my in-laws' Brand-New-Living-Room-Couch (I mean REALLY broke. gushed. and my mother-in-law loved that new couch. we'd talked often about how perfect it was in style and comfort. I swear I spent my first few hours in labor worried about that couch! that changed). I wasn't technically ready (though was so DONE with being pregnant) and was literally shaking while packing for the hospital ("need a pillow...need a toothbrush? no...how many socks? three.) with excitement and nerves and disbelief that this was all going to happen on Evan's birthday, as we joked it would.

As newborns do (and I believe more so because he was so early), Ben slept away his first three weeks of life. This was a huge help for us to orient ourselves and Jack. One thing we did was to keep Benny out of Jack's early morning and bedtime routine. To this day, I never bring Benny into Jack's room when he is first waking up in the morning or from a nap. Even if it's for just a few minutes, that is Jack's time alone with one of his parents.

*One of the biggest adjustments those first few months was letting go of that glorious alone time I had when Jack took a nap or went to bed. I had to train myself (a long, arduous process) to not expect any time to myself during the day. If the miracle happened (or "double happiness" as my friend, Johanna, calls it) and they napped at the same time, great - an added bonus. I started viewing my time with just one of them as the relaxing time. That perspective helped tremendously.

* We kept our brunch routine. We love brunch. Benny was born on a Wednesday, and we were out for brunch that Sunday. And then took a walk. And then went to the park (see picture above. Benny is so tiny, he's that white blanket wrapped up in Evan's jacket!). At brunch, when we told the waitress he was 4 days old, she looked at us like we just set our child out on the window ledge, but going out and keeping our routine with Jack was one of the best things we could have done. Jack sort of demanded that from us, anyway. And to this day, when we go out on adventures, Ben comes along for the ride. Perhaps his sibling shaped part of his easy-going nature.

* After 2+ years, I'd forgotten what it feels like to have a newborn determine your every move and decision and shower, especially as a nursing mom. Every chance I could, I let someone else hold Ben so I could play with Jack alone (and take a shower). We were so fortunate to have been staying with Evan's parents at that time. If there were moments when we couldn't give one of them 100% of our attention due to another screaming child or pure exhaustion, my in-laws stepped in. This helped Jack tremendously. He knew his world had irreparably changed, but didn't seem to notice as much because his grandparents were there to fetch him the orange juice or sing the Elmo's World theme song. For this I am eternally grateful (though somewhere my waters have stained their couch). Thank you, Serpies.

* One of the hardest weeks was after Benny woke up from sleeping most of the time to become a ferociously hungry creature. And his "witching hour" (never liked that term, but is there a better one??) began EXACTLY after we put Jack to bed. Evan and I would both lay face down..."Do YOU want to get him?"...There were some ugly moments there. After a week of this, we decided to force Jack's bedtime onto Benny. Even if he was up a few hours later, we made sure to put Benny to bed at 7:30pm. He cried at first. A lot. But sooner than later, started going to bed the same time as Jack, and Evan and I had our evenings again.

I may have blocked out some of the other things we did to adjust, and/or we just naturally came into our rhythm, to the point where the idea of not having our two children just felt wrong and sad.

Those of you who have gone through this sometimes delicate, sometimes bombastic process, please, add your coping mechanisms and ease my friend's nerves.

Hello Candidate A,

2009-08-12T07:48:00.000-04:00

Inspired by my husband's latest stint on NPR, heard here, I am going to see how long I can commit to writing a blog, mainly to document my children's lives and reactions to them, since I will never be a scrapbooker and am already forgetting the things in their young lives that I swore to myself I would remember (because I have a stellar memory...or at least I used to...before kids). And perhaps this will help me make a better choice at 5am, when I'm up nursing Benny. Instead of watching the Skinny Switch Secret infomercial, I can write about the gritty details of being wrenched out of a beautiful dream to be milked so early in the morning.

And one day Benny can read it and feel some Jewish guilt.

No, I don't like that.

A bit about the title: Hello Candidate (A&B), was the beginning of mock emails I was forced to write while applying for a job. Didn't get the job. Job hunting (especially in a new town, after taking care of my children for a year) makes me feel like a constant Candidate A (or B). I am lucky and grateful to have been able to spend all of this time with Benny and Jack. If only it paid better.

Watching them (9 months, almost 3 years) start to play together is the highlight. When they laugh with (at) each other, I know heaven. Jack can stand still and make Benny laugh (and, oddly, Ben thinks it's super funny when Jack cries. must break him of this). And lately, Benny makes Jack laugh with his spits and yells. Their interaction constantly reminds me of that Time Magazine article a few years back on how siblings (or lack thereof) shape personalities, even more so than parents or friends. Article here.

This is definitely true for me. Growing up with a developmentally delayed (autistic? she's never been properly assessed) sister has done numerous things to my personality. Obviously, some good (sensitivity, open-mindedness), some not (warped sense of self, self-blame), some too sensitive to identify. I mentally, physically and emotionally surpassed my older sister at a very young age and did whatever I could to make that somehow okay. Today, we live thousands of miles apart and can barely hold a conversation, though we talk on the phone often. I spent years trying to "fix" my sister's situation (I've read this is common - siblings of people with developmental, physical and/or emotional differences often feel it is their responsibility to solve these puzzles, or at the very least, make them easier. we are embedded in that impossibility). I love my sister, but had to move to the other side of the country to fully start my own life. I know several people who have a sibling they cannot connect with or who is just mean or jealous or unhappy. It is incredibly lonely to not have a positive relationship with your sibling. Even while having friends, there is a huge social and emotional loss.

I think about it everyday. I think about her everyday. I think about what Ben and Jack's relationship will be like as adults. How can I foster and help develop their connection? I have a cousin who used to tell her children to be nice to each other because they will want somewhere to go for Thanksgiving in the future. Funny, but it worked! They are all grown with children now, living in the same city, and seem very close. Maybe I'll try that.