My daughter, the mother of three children, started to take an aerobics class. When she mentioned it to her mother-in-law, she asked, “What happens when you’re in Florida (for mid-winter break)? Won’t you miss a class?”

When she mentioned it to me, my first response was, “Don’t you lose your urine when you do that?”

Although I am careful even with my daughters when I give an opinion, I did feel compelled to say (only) to my daughter-in-law, “You know when I mention something, feel free to ignore me.” She answered, “Oh I know!” Lovingly. She said it lovingly. I’m pretty sure.

As much as we love our daughters-in-law (and I do love both of mine), we are different with our daughters. We should be. We’ve known each other all their lives.  They are products of our bodies. If we did things pretty well as moms, we know their essences. We can tell from a glance, from a “hello” on the phone, how things are going in their lives. So I am less inhibited with them. After all, we have a history of conflict, and conflict resolution.

I’ve been very lucky. My grandchildren live near me and I babysit on a regular basis. This gives me an opportunity to be part of my children’s lives close up. It gives me a chance to observe things I would not get to see otherwise. To worry more. To approve or disapprove on a regular basis. Oy.

I try not to worry. I try to keep my disapproval to myself. It’s really none of my business. I know it. I recognize their independence. I have no right to approve or disapprove. They do things their own way. It’s their life.

I am sounding defensive. Even I’m hearing it.

I try to apply this rule: I will only say something if I believe that what the kids are doing is physically or emotionally dangerous. I shouldn’t have said anything about starting on fruit instead of cereal and veggies. But kids do like applesauce. They hate peas. Okay, it’s not dangerous exactly. But the baby definitely would have liked eating solids better. Sorry. Read the rest of this entry →

• Posted in Parenting
• Tags: Grandparents

Over-programmed, over-scheduled, over-analyzed, over-commercialized. Over reliant- on books, internet experts and consultants.

What happened to “mother’s intuition?” To the “park-bench” where moms shared child-rearing stories? To getting advice from one’s mother, grandmother, sister or older friend? To schmoozing with others about common concerns?

Like the boomers’ recollection of the military industrial complex, the new millennium has produced the child industrial complex. Why has parenthood become commercialized? Doulas, lactation consultants, sleep experts, infant PT, OT and massage (how stressed could those babies possibly be?) Babies seem to “need” a lot more these days. And there are an awful lot of experts to advise their parents. And those experts are making lots of money preying on the insecurities of those parents.

I had one reference book, Dr. Spock’s. Now parents have stacks of books about pregnancy, birth, infancy, breastfeeding, sleeping/ not sleeping, how to play with your baby, how not to play with your baby. how to feed your baby, what to feed your baby, what not to feed your baby. Cookie Monster is a pariah because he loves cookies, not kale. (Yuck.)

As far as I’m concerned, if it’s not in Dr. Spock, it’s not a big problem. Children have not evolved much in the course of one generation to have acquired a host of new disorders.

Every parental decision seems fraught with drama. Every detail is researched and scrutinized. Every fad dutifully followed so as not to disadvantage your child. There is even a book calling it like it is- “Paranoid Parenting”!

Well, I’ve got news, mom and dad! YOU are the expert on your child. Trust your gut. Don’t set your kid and yourself up for disappointment and feelings of failure because your one-year old wanders off during music class or needs to work on “balance” issues at his gym class. Don’t pathologize normal development. Of course you want to be on the lookout for a real disability but most kids get to each successive developmental stage on their own. At their own pace. Developing their own interests. Becoming their own selves.

There is a book titled, Parenting Experts: Their Advice, the Research and Getting It Right. I did not open the book but believe me, even the title gets it wrong.

Trust yourself. Choose a pediatrician you like, respect and with whom you have rapport. Preferably one who is not alarmist and has children of her own. Talk to other parents in the same trench. Maybe even bounce a few things off your mom.

If you make sure that your kid feels like the most important thing in your life, that you love her/him intensely and unconditionally, you’ll get it right.  At least most of the time.

And that’s the most you can reasonably expect.

• Posted in Parenting
• Tags: Grandparents

My Eden is 60s music, theater, and the sound of my 22-month old grandson Aaron’s laughter.

To some people, the sounds of Eden are the chirping of birds in a meadow or on a hilltop, the splashing and crashing of the ocean’s waves, the tinkling of a brook.

The sounds of silence.

I’m a city girl. The calm of the country makes me nervous. The quiet of suburbia gives me hives.

The cacophony of people and traffic energizes me. The soundtrack in my Eden is mostly 60’s music. My most spiritual experiences have not been in the woods but in the theater.

But the perfect sound of paradise is the sound of my 22-month old grandson Aaron’s laughter.

Aaron can laugh at anything. When he was a baby, he laughed if I sneezed. So I’d pretend to sneeze and send us both into the giggles. Aaron laughs at a pigeon flying off as we chase it and he laughs as his toes touch the water of his bath. He smiles at everyone and everything. His animated, and animating, smile reaches out to anybody nearby. He chuckles, giggles, chortles and guffaws. And I laugh, too. I laugh so much and so hard that I regret not having been more conscientious about doing my Kegel exercises. (Take note, ladies.)

Aaron’s laugh reflects the happiness which vibrates in every corner of his being. Aaron’s laugh is the sound of his love for life, unencumbered by sorrow or worry. It is pure joy made audible.

And I know it can’t last. I know what he doesn’t yet know.

I know that as we go through life, our disappointments and sorrows each leave an indelible scratch on our souls. And that no matter how much we are blessed, we will continue to be challenged by suffering. Our smiles and laughter are tempered by this knowledge and our experience. Surely it’s true to say that adults can’t laugh with innocence and purity.

Aaron, I say, keep laughing. Laugh and your laughter will be contagious. Your smiles will be reciprocated. Your joy will bring joy to others. The burdens you will have to bear will be less formidable.

And whenever I need a laugh, I think of you.

• Posted in Parenting
• Tags: Grandparents

In small, unexpected moments you can see yourself in your children and grandchildren.

As moms, part of our assignment is to help make our kids into the best “selves” they can be. During a conversation with my son, then in college, I remarked that he wasn’t supposed to be like me, his dad, or anyone else. He was supposed to be the very best “Daniel” he could be and our job was to help him accomplish that.

But it does make us smile when, for better or worse, we see reflections of ourselves in our children or grandchildren or we notice resemblances from one generation to the other.

None of my “progeny” look like me. Not one. My husband has the strong genes in the family (good thing I married such a good looking guy!) and all four of our kids look like him. After the birth of our newest grandson, my machatenista (mother of my daughter-in-law) came out of the delivery room, pointed to my husband and exclaimed, “He looks just like YOU!” As do two out of our other three grandsons.

Last week, 16-month old Jillian and I went to her music class. She just wasn’t into it. About two-thirds of the way through the class, she retrieved her shoes from the pile and handed them to me. I asked, “Do you want to put your shoes on?” She solemnly nodded “yes.” She got up and pointed to the stairs. “Do you want to leave?” I asked. She again nodded yes, walked across the entire room and started up the steps. The teacher called out, “Jillian, don’t you want to stay for the rest of the singing?” She emphatically nodded “no” and kept going.

Inside I was smiling and applauding her independent spirit. My family teases me that when I’ve had enough (of anything), I am “out of there,” decisively and quickly. “Mommy’s done,” they’ll laugh. I finally saw something of myself in a grandchild! Maybe next time, someone will display a more endearing quality of mine.

I also get a kick out of how much my grandson Aaron is like his uncle Andrew. When Andrew was 3, his teacher gave out “awards” at the end of the year. Best cleaner-upper! Best block-builder! Best clay-molder! Andrew was the “best politician.” Morah Judy told us that each day when Andrew came to school, he would work the crowd. “See you at lunch!” “We’ll play trucks later!” “Meet you at the block corner!” His natural charisma and friendliness was evident at an early age and has stood him in very good stead since. Aaron, who looks remarkably like him, also has Andrew’s outgoing, friendly personality. People are drawn to him in the very same way.

All our children need to wrestle to establish their own identities, particularly vis a vis their parents. This seemed particularly true for one of my daughters. However, now that she is a mother, she and her siblings recognize in her, a younger version of myself. I am not sure she sees this as a compliment.

One day I bought an irresistible gift for that daughter which I hesitantly handed her, not sure if she would see the humor. I was relieved and flattered that she immediately placed it prominently on her living room chair.

It is a small cushion with the words, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all.”

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• Tags: Grandparents

When my husband and I became parents, he became Abba and I became Mommy. This was true for all our friends except for the two couples who planned on moving to Israel and chose “Ima.” The rest of us agreed that “Ima” sounded like a screechy shriek.

Oh well. “Mommy” can too.

When my friends and I became grandparents, there were many more names from which to choose. “Bubbie,” “Bobba” and “Bobbie” were early favorites- mostly chosen by those who had (already dead) European grandmothers whom they had called by those names. Grandma sounded like an old lady but if you had had a beloved Grandma, (by then probably also dead), it had a good association.

My Grandma was still alive when I became a grandmother. So that name was hers. My Nana died when she was only a little older than I was at the time I achieved “grandmotherhood” so, although I loved her dearly, I had unhappy baggage with that name.

My own mother was Mama and although I really liked that, I thought she should just keep it. I was in no way a “Bubbie” or any derivative thereof. I didn’t knit, wear orthopedic shoes, have gray hair in a bun, bake or talk with an accent other than that of a native Noo Yawka.

My grandfather’s second wife who we all disliked wanted to be called Granny. She looked like the evil stepmother in Disney’s Cinderella.

“Grammy” had a nice Wasp-y ring to it but the movie “Annie Hall” kind of put a damper on that appellation for nice Jewish grandmothers.

What to do? What to be called? As I rocked my twin grandsons, the first grandchildren, I knew this was a momentous decision. My husband, who did not know his grandfathers, decided immediately on Zaidie. Zaidies usually go with Bubbies. Not us.

“Savta” has a nice soft sound. There are lots of young Savtas. The word had no connotations or baggage for me. I tried it. I’d say to the babies, Savta’s here, Savta loves you, Savta thinks you’re terrific! They said Savta by the age of 14 months. By then, I felt like a Savta.

Last week, the twins, now almost 7 were talking about our “savta sandwich.” Jack said that they are the bread and I am the deli! They were teasing me that Savta sounds like “soft-ta.” They laughed and said they liked that. When we cuddle, even though I’m actually a little bony, they like snuggling up to their “Soft-ta.”

I like it too. I’m sure I’m smiling as, cuddled together, we all drift off to sleep.

• Posted in Parenting
• Tags: Grandparents, Naming

I was wearing jeans, a big shirt and running shoes. She had the jeans but was wearing ballet flats and a t-shirt. We were both pushing strollers, stopped on the corner for a red light. I took a chance. “They don’t make grandmothers like they used to, huh?” She laughed and then we both oohed and aahed over each other’s grandchildren.

Well, they don’t. My grandmothers had gray hair, one wore hers up in a bun. My hair is wavy, shoulder-length and a lovely auburn color. Any time I see gray, I call Maira, my colorist.

My grandmothers wore demure skirts, blouses and dresses which were always in style because they were never in style. As a matter of fact, my Grandma was wearing the same suit in a picture of us in the playground in 1954 as she wore to my son’s bar mitzvah in 1991. She wore orthopedic shoes for as long as I can remember. Now I can’t wear stilettos, but a nice pair of stylish heels is essential for any good outfit.

My Grandma baked strudel, rugalach and the best babka you ever tasted. I remember the buttery bag of rugalach she dropped off right before Yom Kippur for break-fast. Forty years later, I think I can still smell them.

My grandsons are crazy for my macaroni and cheese.

I just found Grandma’s recipe, in her own handwriting, for her chocolate cake. Too many steps for me, too many ingredients.  I doubt my granddaughter will ever find one of my recipes. Maybe I’ll leave a note telling her to do take-out.

Grandma always had supper on the table for Grandpa. My husband is lucky if I bought something from the local kosher store and put it in the fridge. It’s microwave-on-your-own.

Grandmothers used to look like grandmothers.

A few years ago, I pushed my twin grandsons in a double stroller around Manhattan’s Upper West Side. This area is, as my friend put it, the “in-vitro capital of the world” and there are many “older” moms with “multiples.” If someone complimented my adorable babies, I preened that, when corrected, they gasped-“But you look much too young to be a grandmother!” And if they got it right, I was positively insulted that there was actually someone who did not think I was the mother!

My grandmothers were always thrilled to see me. Everything I did endorsed their view of me as extraordinary. They were my biggest fans. They were proud of me, they loved me and I knew it.

In some ways, for sure, they still make grandmothers like they used to.

• Posted in Parenting
• Tags: featured, Grandparents

The family diamond ring is going to the first born granddaughter.

I was the favorite. Really.

To my Nana, I was her “princess.” To my Grandma, I was the “tip of her heart.”

At the beginning, it had nothing (much) to do with my curly blond hair and good disposition. It was because I was the first. On both sides. The long, eagerly awaited grandchild. And a girl–a girly girl–dolls and dresses, jump ropes and jacks.

I don’t know a single boomer grandmother who doesn’t kvell over her grandchildren. But if we’re honest, we admit, if only to ourselves, that we love them equally (the same amount) but differently.

I think it has to do with several things. The birth order advantage holds for a while. Then, our relationships depend on how much we see and care for the babies. Maybe it is influenced by our relationship with our child, our grandchild’s parent. Or if we are the maternal or paternal grandmother. Or if we feel like the “other grandmother.” Later it will also depend on how much time we spend with them, their dispositions, interests and, to be truthful, how they respond to us.

I was thinking about this the other day. I was waiting at the bus stop for my first-born grandchildren who, until three months ago lived up the block from me and who I saw and babysat at least twice a week since their birth. Sam got off with a big smile and ran over with a hug and kiss. His twin Jacob barely looked up and went off with a friend. Yes, part of it is manners. But the truth is that, even at the age of 6 and a half, Sam and I are closer. His personality and preferences mesh better with mine. Jacob is a “guy’s guy,” obsessed with sports, a topic I know nothing, and care even less, about. Of course, I pretend to care when we talk about it, but kids are smart.

I lived around the corner from both sets of grandparents. My Nana died when I was 9 and when I became an adult, I found out that she had left me her large, very valuable diamond ring. That gift, I believe, was a reflection of the advantage of my birth order. God didn’t give her the time to really get to know me. On the other hand, I had my grandma until I was 53 and already a grandmother myself.  She painted and sculpted and used to take me and my sister to museums from a very early age. I loved art and drawing. My sister wasn’t interested. Grandma and I both loved to read. We were able to talk about anything and everything. Our personalities and preferences coincided.

I remained the “tip of her heart” until her death at the age of nearly 100 because of the relationship we developed based on who we were as human beings.

Last year, after three grandsons, I was blessed with my first granddaughter, my beautiful, blue-eyed Emme. I go out to New Jersey to babysit for her once a week but who knows how our relationship will develop? Who knows who and what she’ll be? Will we play Barbie and pick-up sticks? Will she love Charlotte’s Web and Nancy Drew? Will she always run to me with a smile and a hug?

Her personality and interests will develop and I pray that I will live a long enough life to see her grow into womanhood, motherhood and, if I am very lucky like Grandma, into grandmother-hood. I will love her, and her siblings and cousins, no matter what.

But she’s my first granddaughter.

I just re-did my will. Emme gets the diamond.

• Posted in Parenting
• Tags: Favorites, Grandparents