Sep 2 2014
Following a rainy Saturday, my husband and I decided to take our toddler to a local playground once the weather dried out. Apparently we weren’t the only ones who had this idea, because the place was packed. Though it’s a pretty large space that can accommodate a fair amount of kids, the 2 to 5-year-old area only has two swings. Once my son grew tired of the slides and tunnels, we headed over to the swings, where a small line had formed. On the swings were two children–presumably siblings–each being pushed by what seemed to be one of their parents.
My husband and I chatted with our son as we waited our turn. But after a solid eight minutes had passed–I timed it–I started to get antsy. Didn’t the couple pushing their kids notice the long line of children waiting to swing? I said something to my husband along the lines of “that’s kind of selfish, isn’t it?” The woman in front of me turned around to nod in agreement. Yet nobody said anything to the couple hogging the swing set. Read the rest of this entry →
Jul 31 2014
I am irrationally angry with my neighbors.
We live in an apartment complex in Baltimore with a population that is probably half Jewish. There is a great playground in our complex that happens to be right within eyesight from our front window. Since we moved in three years ago, whenever it has been nice out, many of our Jewish neighbors have spent all Shabbat afternoon at this playground. My more extroverted husband has gone outside to talk with the “mommy circle” many weeks, often trying to make friends by bringing out our Shabbat dessert to share.
Well, several weeks ago my husband and I noticed that no one had been on the playground for a few weeks. Had it been nap time for everyone? Was it the weather? We couldn’t figure it out. After talking to one of our friends we found out that there had been an incident on the playground. Several older, non-Jewish kids had been playing on the playground, but they were cursing and pushing the smaller kids. The “mommy circle” made a collective decision to go across the street to a grassy area of the complex instead, even though it didn’t have a playground. Read the rest of this entry →
Jun 30 2014
I was talking with a friend today about how parenting has become so hard. Everyday we see blog posts, new statistics, and another article on Facebook about how parents don’t like parenting. I admit to being guilty of these sentiments myself.
I readily admit that I used to love parenting until, six years later, I realize I am still doing the same things I have been doing all along: parks, playgrounds, constant vigilance, etc. Honestly, I thought it would have gotten easier by now.
Don’t jump to conclusions; I am familiar with the Yiddish expression, “Little children, little problems; big children, big problems.” I didn’t think it would be easier per se, just easier in a not-so-physically-demanding-every-minute-of-the-day kind of way. Read the rest of this entry →
Jun 26 2014
I come from a long line of people who have great difficulty recognizing faces.
The technical term for this is prosopagnosia, and I don’t have a full-blown case, I can recognize people I know well. That said, I’ve definitely failed to recognize my first cousin in an elevator, I have been known to say, “Hi, Shabbat Shalom, my name is Amanda. What’s your name?” to the same people in shul many, many, times, and I was very upset to be voted down in my desire to have everyone at my wedding wear a name tag.
My husband functions as my seeing-eye human, trying to clue me into who people are so I can interact with them normally. Before I met him, I would email pictures of the guys I had gone on a date with to my best friend in Jerusalem, who would email me back a prose description of them so I could attempt to identify them on our second dates. “So and so has glasses, a beard, is very skinny, and has blue eyes,” I would think, over and over again, scanning the sea of pedestrians for a fellow I had last talked to in person for three hours and with whom I planned to have dinner. If they shaved or wore contacts, I was out of luck. Read the rest of this entry →
Apr 20 2012
I pride myself on being a hands off/free-range kind of dad, especially when it comes to the playground. I attempt to emulate my neighborhood moms in most ways, but I cannot fathom heading out into the jungle gym myself, unless explicitly invited by my daughter. The reason is twofold. Selfishly I want that time to space out or blissfully stare at my daughter from afar. (And yes, I will cop to furtively sneaking glances at my smart phone.) And unselfishly, I really feel that it is her space, and I want her to learn to navigate it.
I recently got a friend to take her to the playground so I could play frisbee in the adjoining park. This is easily simultaneously one of the geekiest and jockiest things I do. Appropriately, I injured myself on the first day of the season, diving underneath a fellow player, a medieval-bearded-kind-of-dude named Duvid, to intercept a pass. He landed on a part of my body that I didn’t realize could be injured, the meaty small of my back on the left side. Essentially, my love handle. I had the wind knocked out of me, but got back in for the next play, and promptly re-injured it, so I hobbled over to watch my daughter, who I had been feeling extremely guilty for leaving, anyways.
I found her on the swingset. At this point, pushing my daughter on the swing was not an option, so I obeyed my inclination to hang back. I saw her at the center of a group of moppets. I couldn’t hear her voice, but her pantomime was clear. The group of fellow 4-year-olds hoisted her in the air, like a group of moshers helping someone crowd surf. As her cohort pushed her, I saw a look of beaming pride I have seen few times on her face.
I felt completely validated in my hanging back to give space. “She doesn’t need me,” I practically purred. There are some family stories involving nameless relatives of mine lining up all of their playmates and giving detailed instructions of how they needed to play, but this was different. Ronia was the instigator, but was happy to give others a turn. I stood there, aching with love for my charismatic spark of a daughter.
Nov 29 2011
My 21-month-old son is the light of my life. He is kind, loving, giving and he takes a three hour nap everyday without fail. He is a quiet, gentle soul that speaks to me in ways I cannot explain. He shares his toys without hesitation, he freely gives hugs and kisses and wants nothing more than my love and attention. I, on the other hand, have a huge personality and practically bounded out of the womb dancing and singing. My husband and I wonder repeatedly how this sweet soul was ever created from the combination of our candid and mildly abrasive DNA.
I hesitate to even write this next part, for fear of sounding like a “tiger mom” or worse have it seem like I am less than enamored with any aspect of my sweet son. But, over the past few months, I’ve wished my son were a little more fearless.
It took my little one 17 months to muster up the courage to walk. He doesn’t run, jump or climb and he is thoughtful and cautious at the playground, and with everything he does. Just last week he was pushed down the slide by a burly 10-month-old girl. He sat at the bottom, tears streaming as she whizzed past him at twice his walking speed. And instead of scooping him up and smothering him with kisses and Mama fuss about how that little girl shouldn’t have pushed him, my husband and I looked at each other and laughed. We laughed after our twig of a boy was manhandled by a chick half his age.
I know we must seem like insensitive parents and while most days I do assume the role of “helicopter parent” or “referee” that afternoon I just wished my kid would haul off and push someone. I wish he would snatch back a toy at playgroup, instead of passively finding something else to play with. I want him to explode with giggly energy; running, jumping and playing until he passes out from exhaustion. After a day where he’s been pushed, shoved and had every toy he tried to play with ripped away by another toddler, I sit and pray for the strength to not strangle another mother’s child. Read the rest of this entry →