It's true that when we are visiting with family, we may not find ourselves at services, but when we want to, there are different criteria.  Now it's not just important to find someplace, it's important to find a place at which we can all find some meaning.  This means that I look for something for children, something more than just babysitting.  I look for someplace where I am treated as a person and not just a mom.  I look for someplace with a sanctuary with multiple exits in case the 3-year-old isn't able to follow the instruction to keep just a bit quieter.

If we're traveling, though, then no matter how hard we may all try, we're not at home.  The service may be similar or even practically identical, but it means something to be praying with your own community.  Of course one can argue that any synagogue is full of our community, but I still find it isolating to be someplace where everyone does not know my name (a poor paraphrase of "Cheers," I know, but please indulge me).  The glances and nods across the sanctuary, the understanding that if one of the boys decides to make a run for it (and "it" can mean just about anywhere), there is someone who will recognize him and slow him down, the knowledge of whom to ask for candy (because there is always someone)… those things mean home as much as anything else.

Does this realization hit everyone when they have children old enough to have friends at synagogue and to be able to wander around a building without constant supervision?  For a very long time, I felt like my parents' synagogue was home even when everything about it was wrong.  Then I realized that while along ago it ceased to be a spiritual home for me, I still attended because it was my parents' community and that meant something.  It's only now that we have found our own community that I have rediscovered the richness of belonging again.  Maybe for an introvert like me, it's even more important to be part of a community. For the mean time, I hope we've found a place where my kids will grow up with the same sense of community and belonging that I did as a child, until they find their own home – geographic, spiritual, or whatever else.

This morning, my younger son and I were waving goodbye to the Gesher bus, taking my other son off to school.  As we were watching, one of my younger son's three-year-old friends came running.  His dad was behind by a bit, but I think he saw us there and decided to let the little one run.  The friend then fell and skidded a bit on his knees.  We brushed him off and determined that nothing was bleeding while his dad caught up.  He did, however, want a hug from his dad.

As sometimes happens, the hug made the tears flow.  So, I dug into my purse and pulled out an antibacterial wipe and an adhesive bandage and had my son offer it to our friend and his dad.  We stayed with them until the bandage was on and our friend was smiling again.  Then we all entered the JCC together.  Our friend thanked us on the way inside.

I am the person who always has ibuprofen and bandages and a safety pin – it's how I justify carrying around a purse that's halfway to a tote bag.  It's partly because of all those years in Girl Scouts, too!  The fact that I had those things with me was not the important part of the morning.  It was that my son learned that you offer help to friends, you check to see that they are OK, you comfort them, and you don't leave their side.

It's hard to communicate these ideas and values to a preschooler, but it's easy to ensure that our behaviors naturally teach them.  I am sad that our fiend suffered a small scrape but I think we're all just a little bit better for handling it together.

I'm active in a handful of professional organizations, but my kids don't really see that.  It's rewarding and interesting.  I know that it's good for my career but it's not as if I can show the value of career-relevant volunteering to my kids, although I did show my older son my name on a list of editorial board members of a journal and he was very excited.

I volunteer for various activities and try to make it to my  kids' classrooms at the JCC and Gesher but it's not easy to fit in with work.  In a twisted sort of way, I wonder if there isn't a competition about who shows up at school the least.  This is something to which I don't want to claim bragging rights.  I think some people are appalled when they hear that I drop my older son off at the bus stop by 8 and pick him up after his after school care after 5.  I could drop him off and pick him up and spend 2 more hours with him each day.  Of course then I couldn't work as many hours as I do, let alone have the flexibility of being available when most of my colleagues are available.

Do we working parents feel the need to defend not being involved as other parents (or moms, in particular) by making sure others know that we work hard?  Isn't it implicit that we've made choices – sometimes tough ones – and we cannot be in two places at once?  Do we really assume that if we aren't volunteering daily, that others think ill of us or that we're routinely making bad decisions?  Being wholly available for my kids in the evening means that work can't routinely replace bedtime reading.  It's like the working vs stay at home mom dilemma is magnified once kids get to school and some moms are known by all the children and some are known to a smaller group.

Not knowing other classroom parents doesn't mean that I'm never there.  It doesn't mean that they are never there.  It just means that our paths don't cross often.  I really do try not to make assumptions about anything, and I hope others do the same with me.  No matter how hard we try, we can't all lead exactly the life we want.  It's like the story of the fellow who asked the great sages Shammai and Hillel the same question – if they could teach him the laws of Judaism while he stood on one foot.  Shammai said he was a fool and Hillel explained the primary rule is to love your neighbor like yourself and that the rest is commentary.  Hopefully we get the big things right and digress in our execution of the details.

What's the problem with this?  Well, it just made for an amusing birthday story.  My uncle asked my now three-year-old what he would like.  He offered a few ideas, like a gift card to a toy store or to a bookstore.  First I pointed out that we only go to the big box toy stores for diapers but that we spend our dollars at the independent stores.  That was partly because I know have a stack of gift cards to toy stores and nothing on our wish lists.  For some reason, I feel less offended by spending money at chain bookstores.  Anyway, I asked my son if he wanted to buy some books.  He responds, "I like the library. They have a lot of books."  I couldn't even get him to name a book that he wanted, although I know that he does have favorites.  It was really funny.

It does raise an interesting question about supporting independent and local stores vs box stores.  We do try to make it to farmers' markets instead of picking everything up at the grocery store, and of course there are quality issues at play there, also.  Should it somehow be different when I think about bookstores?  I guess not. I do like one near my office in Alexandria, and I try to go there whenever I need advice from a real person about what a child of a certain age might like.  We like local restaurants – even if they are small chains – though I suppose going out to eat is a decision in itself.  And we're kind of snobby about certain toys (only Lego brand bricks will do, for example) even if there are alternatives that, for some reason, are less problematic.

Does this make it harder for people to buy gifts for our kids?  Are we serving as a filter because of our shopping decision, and if so, is that really a bad thing?  I'm not sure, though this spring, with birthday parties every weekend, I am thinking about it.  Any ideas or suggestions?  Do you make different decisions based on the type of item?

We attended one (well, actually two!) 50th birthday parties over the weekend.  Several of us knew both of the birthday "kids" but I think our family was the only one who attended both parties.  Why weren't others at both?  Well, because it was hard.  And it was hard for us, too.

You see, the birthday girl – and recipient of a surprise party – was someone we met through her husband, who died 3 years ago.  It was very hard, of course, to lose a friend in his 40's (let alone a husband, I am sure).  We actually named our younger son after him.  (We went with the first letter of his name, rather than the full name.)  We mentioned her party to one of our mutual friends and he said that it's just too hard for him to see her and the children.  The son is the spitting image of his father, for sure, and our friend spent a lot of time with the family when the father was sick.  I have to tell you the truth.  It was also hard for us to go.  But we had no doubt that it would mean something to the birthday girl to know that we still care about her and think about her and the kids even though she lives too far away to run into regularly.

There were some people at the party who never really knew her husband.  And there were many people who hugged and support her and her family when she needed it.  But our being there was just one more way to make her feel like her husband and the people who she knew through him cared, too.  I realize people split up friends after divorces, but to lose friends when you lose a spouse to death seems too cruel.  We went because it was the right thing for her to know that we care.  It wasn't easy to be the people with whom she could quietly say that she couldn't believe she was reaching this milestone without him, but it was right to be there with her.

It did create an interesting discussion with our older son, who wanted to know who we met when in the circle of friends.  We explained how this one had moved to Chicago for a while, and this one to New Jersey, and this one to New York, but that we all came back together, because none of us have immediate family right here, we're like family.  And that might be the lesson we can discuss with a kindergartener.  Someday we'll talk about grief and how to help others through it.  Today we'll just talk about how important friends can be.

I also recently read a post from a prominent Jewish mother, who said that it is challenging to observe Shabbat since her family lives miles from the nearest synagogue and their neighborhood doesn't have Jewish families.  Well, I wonder, what made you think that was going to work out?  Of course, the house may be perfect and all, but experiencing Shabbat or Yom Tov isn't just about technically observing the holiday.  It's about being with others who feel similarly.  It's why we need a minyan to pray in public and why sitting shiva after a death is a community event.  People heal and grow and feel and experience together.

I will admit that I found it so disturbing to drive to a synagogue more than 5 miles away that it was an important part of my decision about where to join.  I am comfortable with the idea of driving to synagogue, but I lose focus when I have to wait at two stoplights.  Now it just so happens that the synagogue that's practically around the corner – but too far to reasonably walk – happens to be a really good fit for us.  Shabbat dinner is usually just us, but it's so nice to go to services on Shabbat or have company for Passover or eat in each other's sukkot… not just because it's spending time with friends, but because we're experiencing the holiday together, too.  We bring different traditions – and with Shavuout coming up – different cheesecake recipes.

If your community – however you define it based on the range of activities you deem acceptable on holidays – doesn't match with what you need, then I suggest you figure out what compromises you need to make.  You move or you drive to services or you routinely have a house full of people (notwithstanding that they might have to drive or miss out on their typical synagogue experience to spend it with you) – but you have to consider something.  What my kids get out of being with other like-minded families, not to mention what it means to me, is invaluable.

Whether it's experiencing tragedy or joy, I think most of us feel more fully when we aren't alone.

Orville and Wilbur Wright pioneered aviation and built a fixed-wing aircraft.

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm wrote and cataloged folk tales that we still read today.

Tom and Dick Smothers make us laugh.

The lists you can find online of famous siblings are long and sometimes surprising.  Sometimes they are famous for doing something together, sometimes they are famous for doing things in the same field but solo, and sometimes they are famous for doing completely different things.  Most of the time they probably learned and shared and influenced each other somewhat.

At our older son's parent-teacher conference this past Friday, we had to bring our younger son with us.  The teachers noticed many of our older son's mannerisms in the younger one.  His inflections, his facial expressions, even his choice of words – all familiar to them.  They are just three years apart, so if they attend the same schools, it's very likely that they'll encounter some of the same teachers.  My brother is two years younger than me, and it was probably my good behavior that earned him the benefit of the doubt with some of his challenging behavior in elementary school.   My sister is another five years younger; our teachers did not overlap as much.

The bond that siblings can have is powerful.  There are many things that I cannot imagine doing alone, but with a sibling, they become possible.  And, unfortunately, those accomplishments can be both good and bring joy or they can be evil and inflict suffering.  There can, of course, be friendships that are as strong and as powerful, but having a relationship with someone with whom you have a shared perspective based on similar life experiences is hard to replicate.  On the other hand, those shared experiences can probably help one sibling talk the other out of something when no one else has the influence to do so.  How I wish that had been the case this time.

-Posted April 20, 2013-

The wedding was halfway across the country but most of husband's closer relatives would be there, and the wedding was large enough that they were willing to invite children with the understanding that we'd keep them from creating problems.  No matter how they might react when they are tired or sick, when they are healthy and well-fed, our kids really are pretty well-behaved.  So we didn't hesitate to respond that we would be pleased to come.

The children had to be reminded to whisper during the ceremony, and our older son asked a lot of questions that we didn't know how to answer.  (The ceremony was at a Methodist church.)  At the reception, they wanted to chat with the musicians and ask about their guitars and they were dancing with such abandon that more than one adult had to steer clear of their occasionally-flailing limbs.  There was joy and happiness and laughter and, yes, a very late bedtime.  A late bedtime in the time zone we were in, a ridiculously late (as the older one put it) considering the time at home.  They slept in the next morning and were ready for an early bedtime the following night.

Are there parents who would say that we were terrible, keeping from their routine?  Probably.  Are there parents who would say that we should have gone by ourselves and left the kids at home or at the hotel (with a babysitter)?  Sure.  Did their grandparents and their cousins and their great aunts and uncles enjoy their company?  Absolutely.  Did they have an opportunity to learn to be pleasant to family to whom they were being introduced, to smile on request, and to wait while adults had conversations?  Yes.  And did they have the most wonderful time, dancing like crazy people and eating the best desserts they said they'd ever had?  Yes again.

I realize that a lot of people would say that we were crazy to have brought them, but I think we were winners all around.  Every family can handle different bumps in its road, and every child has his own limits.  We all probably spend too much time second-guessing other people for their decisions, but moments like this remind me that every family has different tolerances and it's never appropriate to judge others' decisions.

I hadn't been in touch with this former coworker in more than a year, but we always find some silly reason to catch up.  This time, she contacted me because she had recently, for work, had occasion to visit Israel.  She wrote, "I visited your homeland."  Well, she knows that I'm a product of eastern Pennsylvania, but she also knows that visiting Israel means to me what visiting India means to her – a heritage, an automatic family, a place where you're not different.

My parents dropped me off at JFK to fly alone (the first flight I'd ever been on) to visit a friend in Israel when I was in ninth grade.  Those were the days when an international phone call was a big deal although I suppose in some ways, the world also seemed safer.  Yet, I know that my parents still wonder exactly how they let me go.  Apparently my little sister moped around and told everyone how much she missed me for the entire two weeks.

How can I let my child have an experience that amazing without my being there?  I know that my mom has expressed this, and I know what she meant.  I've been to Israel a number of times, and it's not about being envious of the trip itself, exactly.  I can leave my children at school because while I am sure that any single day at school is wonderful, no day is likely to be as earth-shatteringly meaningful as this trip.  A trip like this is, was, will be.

My older son is only in kindergarten.  It is many years before I will send him on a plane by himself (though his grandparents across the country hope it's not too long).  I am not sure how many chaperones go on the Gesher Israel trip.  I wonder, though, if I can bear not to be one.

–Posted April 11, 2013– 

We count from the second night of Passover for 49 days until Shavuout, with each day and week bringing us closer literally – and hopefully spiritually – from the Exodus to the giving of the Torah. We celebrate on the 33rd day to commemorate the end of a plague among Rabbi Akiva's students, which ended on that day (or not, depending on various sources). The time is observed in a period of semi-mourning, with celebrations, music, and haircuts avoided.

To prepare for the 33 days, we always had haircuts immediately prior to Passover, and my kids got theirs this year. I have not. I have donated my hair three times, all before I had children. In the past year, though, a friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer and lost her hair to chemotherapy. She's doing remarkably well and her growing-in hair looks cute. We all tried to support her and her family in any way. And it occurred to me that there are people who don't have the spunk that she does and don't rock the scarf and earrings look like she did. So I deleted "get haircut" from my to do list last summer and it hasn't re-appeared.

It is hard to have thick, long hair. But now I see it as a gift that I can re-gift. I am waiting, and waiting, and waiting, but I've just about had it. I cannot spend this much time (and product!) on myself. The truth is that I also would have had a hard time trying to fit in a haircut before Passover, but now I've told myself that I must make it until Lag Ba'Omer. Another month is at least a half inch of growth, right? And someone will be glad to have that additional half inch.

I think of all the fights I had with my mom when I was in elementary school over my hair and it gave me an idea. Would I have been willing to endure the sometimes uncomfortable combing sessions if I knew that I could donate my hair when it got long enough? I'm not sure, but I am thinking that it might have worked, had the option been available. Are there any girls with long hair that you'd like to trim, but they disagree? Maybe you can struggle through a few months together to get it to the 10" minimum that most donation organizations require. And then you cut it. Maybe you go through the cycle again, but for a little while it's more manageable. My boys joke about not getting haircuts but I am sure that they will be much older before they can think about this. They dread shampoo as it is and washing long hair would not be fun with them. But if we can do a mitzvah and also save a few parent-child arguments, that sounds like a good combination to me!

–Posted on April 4, 2013–