I have this weird habit — well, maybe you do too — of imagining what my life would have been like if I had gone to a different college, or visited a different country or taken a different job. I am a believer in “the butterfly effect,” despite the awfulness of the movie by the same name. I feel even the seemingly insignificant moments in our lives can set us on a course we might have missed, if things had happened another way.
I am a mother of two boys, who are with me because the exact right pattern of circumstances unfolded them into existence. If I did one thing differently, chances are they wouldn’t be here. Now, I won’t lie, on those really hard days, I wonder about how things might have been. But, more often, on the good days, I am grateful for following a path, however bumpy at times, which lead me to them. Continue reading →
If you have young children, you have likely heard some iteration of the phrase, “Enjoy every moment,” repeatedly. They are the words uttered to you with a smile by the store cashier as she sees your toddler yanking at your hand. It is the comment on your Facebook post about finally getting the kids to bed.
Being a new parent is tough, but not tough enough to ever be sad, angry or even just a tiny bit annoyed by the situation.
That is what you are telling a new parent when you say, “Enjoy every moment.”
I was elated earlier this month, when I received an official packet from my son’s school. The manila envelope was packed with information about his teacher, his bus route, special programs run by the Parent Teacher Association and important dates to remember.
One piece of paper stood out among the rest. A letter from the principal informing parents and guardians about the school’s new policy of not allowing food for classroom celebrations. Instead of bringing in treats, caregivers are asked to work with their child’s teacher to create a special project, game or other fun way to celebrate the birthday. Continue reading →
We are living in a period of racial tension and turmoil. People have literally died fighting neo-Nazis and other white supremacists. Reading and watching the news is emotionally exhausting, especially for those who feel under attack for being black, Jewish, Muslim, or anything not deemed acceptable by pro-white extremists.
Everyone needs a break from the fight. But, even during our breaks, the fight for justice and equity for all rages on. We cannot shield our children from this fight. They need to understand the world we live in.
It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m catching up on Facebook after spending a lovely morning disconnected from technology and reconnecting with my body and soul.
I was blissfully unaware of the ugliness happening around me. With a quick scroll through Facebook, that ignorance quickly faded away.
I read post after post about Virginia. I see pictures of young men who would rather I not be in this country, let alone exist. It doesn’t matter that I’m a third generation American — more than many of them, I’m sure. It doesn’t matter that both of my grandfathers fought for the United States during World War II. I’m Jewish, so that’s just not good enough. My family isn’t good enough.
The fear, worry and anger of my friends is reflected online. As I scroll through my feed, my heart sinks. This is not the world I want for my kids.
Cooperstown, N.Y., is a dream destination for baseball fans. Because, my baseball-loving husband had never been, and I barely remember my childhood visit, we decided to take a weekend trip to the historic village.
With two small kids in tow, we were unsure how much of Cooperstown’s famous sites, we’d be able to enjoy. We were delighted to discover how engaged they were with the history and unique charm of the town. Of course, we had to deal with a few tantrums and crankiness — they are kids after all — but, I left Cooperstown, feeling confident I could recommend a visit to other families. Continue reading →
From his earliest days of playground exploration, my son would be in constant contact with other children. Whether it was an angry push, an enthusiastic hug, or just a curious touch, he never kept his hands to himself.
He’s only one, I told myself. He’ll grow out of it.
My son grew older and more agile. He could climb and jump and keep up with kids three times his age. He still pushed. He still hit. He still tackled kids he loved.
Organized activities, like story time or music class were a nightmare.