UnchartedParent.com

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The presents have been opened and put away, the decorations tucked into bins and boxes, far too many sweets have been consumed. Valentine’s Day candy already fills the shelves everywhere, and a certain big-box store yesterday featured shamrocks in an endcap display. (In mid-January? Really?)

I got back to work almost two weeks ago, when my kids went back to school. I found myself facing a long list of tasks, and I knew that the only way to get everything done was to work steadily and remain focused. Nothing innovative there, right?

But in an unplanned experiment, I tried something new. I’d stayed away from social media during the holidays, trading Twitter, Facebook and other perpetual virtual connections for real-life interaction. I used the internet to shop occasionally, and certainly to look up information or to answer questions. But I took a break from virtual life. And after the holidays, I simply didn’t go back for another week.

The results of my experiment? I had more time to spend with family and IRL friends. I took care of tasks that I’d long neglected. My dull-of-late focus on my longest-term writing project suddenly sharpened and I finally made progress in an area where I’d been stalled for what seems like forever.

There were more hours in the day and my thoughts were clearer. Seriously.

The downside is that I did miss quite a few of the people I’ve come to know in the virtual world, many of whom I respect, some of whom I consider friends. (more…)

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Hanukkah is over.  Christmas is almost here.  All the kids in the house were so excited to be together that I found myself standing over empty sleeping bags at 5:00 a.m. this morning, insisting that the kids return to them and postpone their playing until a time when the sun might be close to rising.  (I think at least a few of them listened.)

It’s always fun to watch the kids open their presents on Christmas morning.  Nothing surpasses a child’s joy, and watching their faces is the best present for a parent.  But this Christmas will be tinged with the silent heaviness of the children and adults lost just a few weeks ago in Newtown, and of the December 25ths those families will experience that they never could have anticipated. The Christmases no one should ever have to know.

This year, I’m already taking greater notice of how much my kids love playing with their cousins, how nothing feels better than my children’s hugs, how considerate my eleven-year-old son was when he finally confessed that he’s known for a while that Santa isn’t real but that he wouldn’t think of spoiling the secret for his little sister, and how often both of my kids make me laugh.  Everything about them seems just a little sharper, sweeter and more present than it did before.

Give your kids stronger hugs this year, before you release them to let them play with family or go out with friends and be the amazing individuals they’re meant to be.  Let them know what you love and respect about them.  Shed a tear for how fast they’re growing, tickle them if they’ll still let you, give them a gift you’ve been on the fence about or a compliment you’ve been holding inside.

Take a moment to remember the families whose children can’t come home.

Uncharted Parent will be taking a break until the new year.  Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and I’ll see you in 2013!

(At least they’ve heard of Hanukkah. So that’s something, right? (Photo credit: The J Train via Flickr.com))

If you are Jewish and you don’t live in, say, New York City or Brookline, Massachusetts or a similarly constituted community, you may be familiar with the Hanukkah Stare.  I live in an area where Judaism is inevitably a source of bewilderment to someone, so I encounter the Hanukkah Stare at least once each year.  For the sake of the uninitiated, I’ll describe it before proceeding any further.

The Hanukkah Stare is received when a Jew walks into a store and asks an employee about the availability of either general or specific Hanukkah merchandise, and the employee has never heard of Hanukkah.  The Stare commences immediately following the question, when the employee appears to suffer from a sudden state of immobility–facial muscles included.

The Jewish shopper repeats her question.  This is when the Hanukkah Stare generally sets in for its longest stretch, as the employee, convinced the shopper is either speaking a foreign language (I suppose we are) or is just making stuff up, tries to figure out what the heck to do.  Generally, there is no blinking.

A number of years ago, I wrote an essay for JewishFamily.com called “Finding Jewish Meaning in the Holiday Season.”  My experience last week with a local flummoxed and slightly rude store clerk reminded me of why I wrote this essay back when my now ten-year-old son, “Jack,” was small.  I reprint it here in the hopes that it can offer some inspiration to all those of us who still find ourselves dealing with the Hanukkah Stare and the other, less desirable reactions that sometimes accompany it.

Finding Jewish Meaning in the Holiday Season*

Being an American Jew in December means two things.  First, it means celebrating Hanukkah, a minor holiday in our religion, but one that is eagerly anticipated by children who can’t wait to rip open their gifts as well as by adults who look forward to the holiday’s sanctioned consumption of latkes, sufganiyot and other foods fried in oil.  Second, being Jewish in America at this time of year means facing the reality that in many places, observing Hanukkah instead of Christmas still marks us as different.

Two years ago, just after my son turned four, he and I patiently waited at the deli counter in our local grocery store.  Christmas was only days away—as was Hanukkah—and the store was packed with happy celebrants stocking their carts.  A merry, middle-aged shopper next to us in line thought she would pass the time by engaging the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy in my cart in some childish banter about his presumed holiday excitement.

“Is your tree all ready for Santa?” she asked, her sugary voice emphasizing the key Christmas terms.

I held my breath.  I’d never minded responding to people’s assumptions about my holidays with a concise, “I’m Jewish; I celebrate Hanukkah.”  But now my son, just four years old, faced the glare of public interrogation as he was challenged to explain his identity.  How would he respond? (more…)

(Artwork by 7-year-old “Emmie”)

Uncharted Parent wishes everyone a very happy Thanksgiving.  Eat well, separate the kids when necessary, and try to plan things so that you get a little sleep in between the late-night Thursday and 5:00 a.m. Black Friday shopping sprees.

Have a fantastic holiday!

Got a kid who loves basketball?  Sports in general?  Maybe even looks up to Celtics guard Ray Allen?  Have I got a story for you.

We all know that sports figures don’t play 24/7.  What do they do with the rest of their time?  Frequently, the answers to that question make parents cringe.  But look for Allen off the court, and apparently you’ll often find him with his nose in a book.  Read this Boston Globe article, then print it out and give it to your kid.  (Or just direct them to the article on your smartphone or iPad, which you know is more often in your kid’s hands than yours, anyway.)

In another kid-book recommendation, I have to point you in the direction of The Ultimate Top Secret Guide to Taking Over the World, by Kenn Nesbitt.  It’s not great literature, but I can tell you this: ten-year-old “Jack” is reading the book now, and I can literally hear him laughing from the other side of the house.  Any book that brings this much joy to my child gets a thumbs-up from me.

Side note: This is an unusually short post for me.  My brain is functioning at reduced capacity as a result of a steady diet over the past few days consisting of nothing but matzoh, inadequate condiments spread on the matzoh and Easter candy.  Really, I’m amazed I’m able to sit upright and form sentences at all.  Counting the minutes, I am, until Pizza and Pancakes Saturday night.

As I write this, we’re about halfway through our version of the holiday season: one child’s birthday, Hanukkah, Christmas, wedding anniversary and New Year’s.  Yesterday I served cocoa to first-graders, taught fourth-graders how to gamble (i.e., taught them how to play dreidel) and with the help of a friend, prepared enough traditional Hanukkah food-fried-in-oil that my entire house now smells like a giant french fry.

Then, in the best of Jewish customs, we ate.  And ate.

(Photo credit: santheo via Flickr.com)

(Photo credit: Guzzle & Nosh via Flickr.com)

Even as we continue to light the candles on the menorah, our thoughts are moving to the cookies the kids and their cousins will set out for Santa Claus alongside the carrots for his reindeer.  (Hey, Rudolph gets hungry, too.)  With all of these holidays in December, the whole month is hectic, crazy, fattening and fun.  It’s also peppered with occasional moments of realization that these little kids aren’t so little anymore.

Those are the moments when I stop, take a picture and remind myself what December is really about for our family.

Uncharted Parent will take the next week off to enjoy the rest of the season to the fullest.  Also because, let’s face it: the kids are out of school and we all know what that means for writing.

Whatever holiday you celebrate this month–whether it’s your own or you’re sharing in the joy of a loved one’s holiday–I and my family wish you happiness, love and peace.

See you in the new year!

The baby in the photo above is just a few days old.  He’s still exhausted from the difficult birth, and from the colic that plagues him whenever he’s awake.  If you look carefully at the middle of his forehead, you’ll see a small streak of blond; that’s the color all of his hair will turn soon.  (And yes, he really was born with all of that hair.)  His parents have been waiting for him for a long time.

Ten years ago, that baby was my and my husband’s combined Hanukkah, Christmas and anniversary present.

My son, “Jack,” turns ten in just a few days.  This means I’ve been a parent for a decade.

In some ways, I’m still the person I always was.  I care about people, politics and the world I live in.  I love books and learning–both for myself and others–and I’m interested in reasonable viewpoints that are not my own.  I over-stress and under-sleep, I’d rather enjoy the company of friends or read than watch bad television, and I have more items on my “things I want to do in my life” list than I could ever hope to accomplish.

But I’m not the same person I was ten years ago.  Back then, I couldn’t understand what it means never to make any decision without considering the implications for another human being.  The point seems obvious in the context of, say, choosing one’s next career move.  But even something as simple as a friend’s invitation to meet for dinner now generates a quick computation of my schedule, cross-checked against my kids’ calendars and, if I find there a pre-existing event, determining if the event is missable or not.  Every time.  If I devote X amount of energy to activity Y, will there be enough of me to help my child with goal Z?  And so on.

Parenting is the trick of sharing personhood while still maintaining one’s own identity.  (And if you doubt this, parents of preschool or school-age kids can consider that transformation you made, without any intent on your part, from “Mr. X” to “Alex’s dad.”  Yup, that’s who you are now.)

How could ten years of that not change a person?

What is the reward for this change?  In my case, I have the privilege of parenting two of the coolest people I know.  As Jack is the one who has sparked this post, I’ll address these next words to him: (more…)

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A few years ago, JewishFamily.com published an article of mine called “Beyond the Afikomen.”  It included tips for parents of young kids to help them get through the seder with their sanity intact.  That website is now defunct, unfortunately, so I’m reprinting that article here.

As Passover approaches, our thoughts turn to matzoh balls, the story of Moses leading the Jews to freedom and, if you have young children, how to get through the seder without any meltdowns.

It can be done!  With a little flexibility, you can plan a seder that will both emphasize the story of the Jews’ path out of bondage and keep temper-tantrums at a minimum.  Here are some tips for a child-friendly seder.

Before Passover

• Read the Passover story and sing the songs before the holiday begins.  That way, the kids can be more active participants at the seder.

• Guide the kids in various Passover-related crafts.  They can decorate their own plates for the seder by coloring or cutting out pictures of parsley, the shank bone, etc. and then gluing them onto plastic or paper plates.  (Covering the decorated plates with clear plastic plates will allow the kids to use their creations as their own plates at the seder without ruining them.)  They can also make placemats or use fabric paint or markers to decorate cushions on which to “recline” at the seder.

• Find other ways to get the kids excited about the holiday.  For example, there is a wonderful video from the Sesame Street gang called Shalom Sesame: Passover.  I bring this video out only in the few weeks leading up to Passover each year, and consequently, my son adores it.  Another popular video is Passover at Bubbe’s.

• The plagues can be fun!  Make or buy “plague bags” to use at the seder.  A plague bag has a little toy to represent each plague.  I’ve seen frogs that hop, ping-pong balls for hail, little plastic bugs for locusts and flies, small stuffed cows for disease of the livestock, etc.  For darkness, I buy cheap, goofy sunglasses at the dollar store and pass them out to all the kids to put on when we reach that plague.  A friend of mine gives the kids sheets of small, round stickers to serve as boils, and the kids have a blast sticking them on each other’s faces.

• Try to find other areas where props can help explain the story.  For instance, I bought several yards of cheap blue fabric.  I cut the fabric in two and then reattached it with Velcro.  When we got to the part of the story about the parting of the Red Sea, an adult held each end as the kids took turns walking through the fabric “sea” while the “water” parted at the Velcro seam.

(more…)

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I walked away from my computer four times while writing that last paragraph.

Nonetheless, I am going to strive for a bit of balance in my house, especially when the kids come home from school.  It now feels very odd, but we celebrate two holidays this week: St. Patrick’s Day and Purim.  Both are supposed to be times of appreciating one’s heritage, drinking (for the adults) and raucous fun.  I can’t say I feel very merry right now, but I’m going to rally for my kids.  They love these holidays.

So let’s go! Here are a few of the activities we’re planning; maybe one will be useful to you if you’re trying to spice up St. Patrick’s Day or Purim in your own home.  Feel free to leave your own ideas in the comments.

• A St. Patrick’s Day Visit from the Leprechaun - I had never heard of this, um, tradition until the day I was driving my then five-year-old son home from school and he said, “I wonder what mischief the Leprechaun did in our house today?”  When I asked him what in blazes he was talking about, he spun a long tale about the Leprechaun who visits houses on St. Patrick’s Day and causes all sorts of minor chaos when the residents aren’t looking.  Slightly panicked—and annoyed at having never received the memo on this parental requirement—I dashed through the house while “Jack” removed his jacket and shoes.  I swept toys off shelves, unrolled toilet paper, turned over wastebaskets and generally created even larger  messes than usually exist in  my house.  Jack bought the whole thing and was delighted, and the Leprechaun’s visit has been a family tradition ever since.  A bonus: I never spend more than ten minutes creating the mischief.  But the kids talk about it for months. 
• Creative Hamantaschen - Those tri-cornered, jam-filled cookies we make for Purim are yummy, but once you’ve mastered the basics, why stick with apricot or prune filling?  Brainstorm with the kids for possibilities: we’ve used other jam flavors, peanut butter, chocolate chips, and this year, I’m thinking of trying Nutella.  I’m also contemplating drizzling the finished hamantashen with melted chocolate…mmm.  What can you come up with?
• Creative Interpretation of Shalach Manot – I’m no religious leader, but it seems to me that an appropriate interpretation of the Purim tradition of “sending out portions” (also known as the Purim basket) could be to send help where it’s so desperately needed right now.  If you want to make a contribution to assist with relief efforts in Japan, here’s one list of organizations accepting donations.

Finally, as the crisis abroad continues to unfold, your children may see and hear more media about it and may begin or continue to raise concerns.  An updated version of my piece on how to talk to your kids about Japan ran in the Concord Monitor yesterday; you can read “Mommy, What’s a Tsunami?” here.

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How were your holidays?  I hope you got some rest, enjoyed the company of family and friends, and, if you’re at all like me, consumed far too much holiday chocolate and other sweets. That’s what December is all about, right?
 
Now it’s time to settle into 2011 by welcoming back the familiarity of routine even as we consider what to do differently in the new year.

I’m not usually one to make New Year’s resolutions, but this year I needed an excuse to create a few new rules for myself, and January 1 provided a convenient opportunity.

So what are my resolutions?  After careful thought, I came up with 5:

1. Establish inviolable writing time – I work at home, and it’s so easy to let other aspects of life disrupt my work time.  Some disruptions can’t be avoided, like a sick child, and there still won’t be anything I can do about those.  But other disruptions, such as volunteer commitments, doctors’ appointments, coffee meetings with friends (writing or otherwise), communications from home of any sort, are discretionary.  From this point forward, when the kids are in school, I’ll shut off the internet at a certain time each weekday morning and won’t turn it on again until noon.  Please don’t take it personally, but no, I can’t meet you and I won’t answer the phone.  I’m writing. (more…)