On the Moral Compass of Children

The news showed up just before Yom Kippur, just before that time of deep reflection when we wrestle with the challenges of being human: Girl's Suicide Points to Rise in Apps Used by Cyberbullies.

Fifteen Florida middle school children participated in bullying another child so relentlessly that she took her own life. At age 12. Twelve. When I read this, I found myself muttering, almost moaning, aloud. Rebecca Sedwick was "absolutely terrorized on social media" says the local sheriff.

Rebecca Sedwick

How could these kids do this to another human being? Who is the evil child living in the world who would send this text message: "Can u die please?"

What? asked Bella, on hearing my audible shock. I hesitated telling her about the article--for a minute--because the idea of discussing suicide with my children is somehow sickening. I don't want them to know that it exists. But of course, like just about everything in this world, they know, or they will know, whether or not I tell them. Instead of trying to explain, I said read this, and handed her the article. At 10.5, she's not much younger than Rebecca. She will be in middle school next year. And she will get a phone, in not too long. I wanted her to know, in the starkest terms, that every word that she types, anywhere, has lasting effects, both on herself, and on others.

Bella was mystified by the article. "But why were the kids mean to her? Why?" she asked. As if there should be a reason. 

"It doesn't matter why," I told her. 

Do I think that Bella is a potential bully? I certainly hope not. But one must ask: did the parents of those fifteen children think their children were? And what did they do to prevent them from unleashing such hatred on another human being? 

Is it even plausible that such a large group of children all were lacking a moral compass? The dynamics of the group are strange and powerful. Children will gang up on the weak, even if their individual inclination is to be kind. It's a mob mentality, where ethics go out the window, and evil spreads like fire. When the horror is over, the individual child might defend himself saying, "But it wasn't just me! Everyone was doing it!" So the group becomes both the impetus, and the excuse. 

This is not a phenomenon seen only in children, of course. Think about the Holocaust. Think about neighbors turning in neighbors.

A parent of a teenager told me that the students in her daughter's high school are required to sign an anti-bullying pledge at the beginning of each year. I wonder if those pledges work. I wonder if, perhaps, Rebecca Sedwick's bullies had to sign one; according to a school official, the school has an "extensive anti-bullying campaign." They do? What the hell is happening in this campaign?

The term cyberbullies makes the culprits sound like strangers on the internet out to terrorize young people, when in fact these were classmates of the victim. The article mentions that there was regular bullying, too--i.e. pushing and hitting. Though unmentioned, there was undoubtedly also social isolation and intimidation--common forms of bullying, especially among girls, that often go unnoticed and unaddressed. It doesn't matter where or how they did their evil work, the end result is the same: a group of children terrorized another child, with no regard for her feelings or her well-being. 

It seems to me that the more explicit we are with kids about our expectations of them, the more information they have to make ethical decisions. We tell toddlers, over and over, to "be nice." We need to find a way to tell older kids to be nice, too, in ways that they understand, in as stark terms as necessary. Maybe we can start by having them read the article.

May Rebecca Sedwick's memory be for a blessing...

Watch Out, Bullies

When people make efforts to combat bullying in schools, who is the target audience? The bullies? The victims? The bystanders? The parents, often bullies (or victims) themselves?

Lee Kaplan's original one-man play, Bully, is a self-contained anti-bullying campaign. Through the use of a childhood journal, Kaplan walks through the pain of years of abuse at the hands of his peers. The show is brutally honest. Kaplan portrays his young self as earnest and awkward, recalling how he shushed the other kids who were goofing around during play practice, which he took very seriously. It was like a light went off, he says, and thereafter, he had a target on his back.

Nowadays, Kaplan is buff and poised, handsome and talented. Watch out, bullies. He's coming for you. One by one, he "fights" his adversaries in imaginary boxing matches, and each opponent helps him glean lessons on how to beat a bully.

So who is this show for? Because it's a true story, and because it is so honestly executed, the audience is all-inclusive: bullies and those who have been bullied, take a seat and learn something. Kaplan's intensity and talent draws you in, and spits you out, feeling unsure of where you fall. Are you the good guy in all of this, or would you have jeered him, too? He even recalls a time when he was a bystander to someone else's abuse. Haven't we all been there?

The play has a definite didactic quality, and it's no surprise that Kaplan has already performed it in front of school audiences. I saw the play with two other mothers, and all three of us walked out of the show thinking about our own children. One said that she worried that her son, only age five, has already been the victim of bullying. My concern is that my daughters recognize bullying for what it is, and stand up for themselves and others when they see it happening. To that end, I would love for my kids to see Kaplan's show.

It takes cojones to take on the bullies, and to be as honest as Kaplan is in this show. He's for real.

It's Okay to Tell Kids to Hurry Up

There was a piece that went around the social media sphere in the last week or two... maybe it's still in your feed, somewhere... in which a mom explained how she's bettered the lives of herself and her kids by "slowing down" to experience the world at the pace of her curious, dawdling young child. The mother says that she was all busy and bothered and rushing around, and then she banished the words "hurry up" from her vocabulary, and ever since, she and her kids are joyously living in the moment, smelling flowers, yadda, yadda.

Oy. Yet another piece of propaganda espousing the idea that having young kids means that they should be the center of every parent's universe. A child must not be rushed or told to hurry, because no parent (or sibling, etc.) should ever have any place to be that might infringe on said child's right to do whatever his three- or four- or six-year-old mind dreams up next. So what if it takes the kid an hour to put on her socks? There are so many hours left in the day! Just chillax, uptight parents, says righteous blogger. Like me.

This piece reminded me of another that went around in the past year or two, in which a writer criticized a stranger, a mother she observed in the playground, for the crime of using her cell phone instead of interacting enthusiastically with her happy young child. But, of course, the critic could not possibly have known whether or not that mother had been interacting all day with the child, and took a needed moment when the child was engaged and playing (on the playground! Not in front of the TV) to get in touch with a friend. Just because the mother was not interacting in that moment, does not mean she was a bad mother. There are so many worse things a parent can do than not acknowledge every single smile of their child's. In fact, just letting a kid play on their own may very well be a great gift.

There is an assumption out there that any mother (let's face it, fathers just don't get this criticism) who does not give herself completely over to her kids is selfish and under-appreciative of her children. I'd like to put out an opposite theory: perhaps focusing too much on young children's every move and desires is at the root of the whole "helicopter parenting" phenomenon in the first place. If you start canceling appointments and changing your schedule so you can dawdle with your slow preschooler, yes, you may come to appreciate your child's curiosity and unique interests. These are good things. But you yourself may have no life. And you may also put your child at risk for an inflated sense of ego.

When time allows, by all means, follow the child's lead. Let the insistent two-year-old push her own stroller up and down the sidewalk. But when it's time to get going, scoop her up and strap her in. She may cry a little; it's okay.

It's just fine to teach a small (or big) kid that there are times for playing and daydreaming and wandering, and times when he or she has to hurry up and be somewhere. This is life. Deal with it, kiddo.

This IS Vacation

So much on my mind this week...and it's the first time I've had a chance to sit down and say something. Maybe I should write something political, but my friends the columnists have done such a good job. So I'm not going to hold court here about the loss of the Voting Rights Act, the end of DOMA, the triumph of Wendy Davis, and the senate's bill giving hope at last for fair treatment of the undocumented.

Instead, I'm going to talk about the personal. Because I find myself in a strange predicament this week. I'm without two of my three kids, who are off at sleep-away camp. Like my two-year-old, I keep looking for them everywhere, and they're nowhere to be found. (Except, on occasion, on the camp website, where I may have the luck to find one or both of them deep in a selection of hundreds of photos. One mom noted on Facebook that she can recognize her kid by the corner of a shoe. It's an addiction. As soon as they're spotted, you want more. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.)

This is not the first time that they've both been away, or that I've been away from them. Last summer, Bella went to camp for one session, and Ruby overlapped with her for a week. But this year, Bella's away for 7 weeks, and Ruby for 4. That's a long time.

I was so harried moving, helping the kids finish school, and getting organized and packing for camp, that I didn't have much time to consider what it would be like with the kids gone. It was the day after they left that Josh said to me, "Why'd we have to send them away for so long?" [Some Israeli friends, who can't wrap their brains around the American institution of summer camp, jokingly chided that it's child abuse.]

Why, indeed? For one thing, they wanted to go. When I was a kid, camp was a given, not a choice. But I always said I wouldn't send my kids unless they wanted to go. My girls were SO EXCITED for camp. They woke up at 5 am the day they were leaving, like people do when they have to catch a plane for a long-anticipated trip. Looking at the photos, camp looks like one long vacation for those lucky kids. Like Club Med, without the parents at night.

I went to camp for seven summers as a camper, and three on staff, and there's no question that the experience shaped me. I made some of my deepest friends, and each summer had more memories by far than the school years in between. By the time I was in college I couldn't think of coming home for a summer. How would I cope just hanging out with my parents?

I think that now, more than ever, freedom for children is scarce. What a gift for a child to be sent off on her own for a few weeks, knowing that she's not really on her own at all. She has friends and counselors there to help her, coupled with increased incentive to figure things for herself, without Mom and Dad in the background. It's hard not knowing all the details of my kids' lives, but at the same time, it's a gift for them to learn self-reliance, and to find out all the ways in which they don't need me.

So what is a parent to do, with their kids gone? In all my summers at camp, I never thought for a moment about what it was like for my parents back at home. I guess I assumed it was one glorious kid-free vacation for them. Alas, my (pre-children) daydreams of summering in Tuscany while the kids are at camp was squashed by the reality of paying camp tuition. This really IS our vacation. For them, it's the time of their lives. For us, it's a few weeks to focus on the little one, and to be able to float by with less structure. We will all blink our eyes and find ourselves packing school backpacks, come September.

The Mad Scramble

It's the last day of the school year tomorrow, and I'm so proud of my rising 4th and 5th graders. They have handled having their lives uprooted in the last month of school with aplomb. Next week, they're off to camp-- happily and with excitement. How terrific for us all: a break from routine on all ends.

But, before they leave, logistical concerns must be addressed.

The main affair this week is to finish packing for camp, as the bags are being picked up by the mandatory luggage delivery service on Friday. This is a challenge. The camp packing list requires a very large number of garments (9 shorts? 15 shirts? 20 socks? Yowza), way more than we usually have in rotation. The challenge of laying out all these clothes, in addition to the flashlights, sleeping bags, shoe bags, and other required accoutrement, in the kids' shared bedroom that has not yet been entirely unpacked from our move, has been formidable, to say the least. We'll get those bags packed, but it may be in the middle of the night on Thursday, after I've washed and dried everything the girls have worn this week. Of course, once the bags are packed, the kids will have to go naked until they leave for camp on Tuesday.

So here I am, trying to dot all the i's for camp, and looking forward to a nice long summer break, when I realize the end of this school year means I'm supposed to be thinking about NEXT school year. That's right. School medical forms are due by the end of June. Better get on that. Summer reading lists have also been distributed, so I suppose I should go through the lists and put together a nutritious book pack for each girl. Also, a friend reminded me that I need to sign up for after school programs now, otherwise my children may get shut out of their desired classes next fall.

Sometimes I think it's a wonder that my kids have had the benefit of any kind of formal education at all. It means I've somehow managed to get the forms in, and get the packing done, and make the registration dates, for this and for that, year in and year out. Although each time, it seems like a mad scramble.

My method (if there is one)? Part putting best foot forward in terms of organization and planning, and part simple belief that it will all work out in the end. My girls will get to camp with plenty of stuff in their bags, and if they happen to have one-too-few pajama tops, they will borrow a friend's or wear a t-shirt or otherwise problem-solve their way out of this imagined disaster. You just gotta believe. And, probably best to get those medical forms in, too.

Confession: I Love Mother's Day

It's a so-called "Hallmark holiday," beleaguered by consumerism and guilt-buying. It's the reason why shelves are full of icky #1 Mom mugs, bad chocolate, overpriced cards, and other detritus that ends up overflowing landfills. Its founder, Anna Jarvis, essentially disowned it.

Before I had kids, I called my mother and told her I loved her. Maybe sent flowers. That was about it. No big fuss, and no guilt. It was a Hallmark holiday, after all.

But now, as a mom of three, I must confess that I love Mother's Day. Here's why:

1. Secrets. All that whispering between my daughters and their dad leading up to the big day was pure joy. These girls love a secret, and they especially love having a secret from me. Bless them.

2. Self-directed art projects. Gotta love those awesome cards and posters...how sweet, right?  You know they won't be doing that anymore in only a few years' time. But best of all, it took them many nagging-and-boredom-free minutes to make them (secretly and quietly in their rooms). What mom doesn't love that?

3. Peace and quiet. Josh took all three kids out to buy the ingredients for brunch, and then to his parents' to cook it, leaving me ALL ALONE for almost two hours. I took a shower, without having to stick my head out three times to negotiate with a child. I got dressed, without any visitors. I left the house and walked in the sunshine to a nail salon, where someone soaked and rubbed my feet and put purple polish (aptly named "playdate") on my toes. Yes, my family knows how to pamper a mom.

4. Brunch. My mishpacha put together a meal of egg and whitefish salad, smoked salmon, potatoes (by Bella), arugula-walnut-parmigiano salad (with the most delicious dressing by Aunt Nina), and a beautiful fruit salad with mango, peaches, and pomegranate seeeds (by Ruby). They made sure I had a cup of coffee in my hand, without having to get up to fetch it. When the meal was over, they snapped at me for trying to help clean up. Wow.

5. Cooperation. For some reason, my instructions carry more weight on this day. The kids listen because it's against the understood rules to argue or disobey with me on Mother's Day. (Well, the big kids did. The two-year-old had better get with the program for next year.) Admittedly, it stinks that this isn't the case every day. But hey, I'll take it.

6. Love and appreciation. You'll notice there are no gifts on this list. I didn't get any, and I didn't want any. What I like most about Mother's Day is that my kids were reminded to appreciate me, and they did. They know that that it takes a lot to take care of them. I think that knowledge will go a long way to make them good mothers themselves one future day, should motherhood be in their cards.

All in all, I think Anna Jarvis would have approved.

No, there's no need for kids' day, we told the girls yesterday. Because every day is kids' day. Well, today I appreciate my unique and quirky and difficult and loving and wonderful kids--who made me a mother, after all--just a smidgeon more. And their dad, too.

On Being News Interpreter to My Kids

I'm no news junkie, but this has been one of those weeks when it's almost impossible to pull oneself away from the news. Even now as I write this, I'm refreshing the New York Times web site every few minutes to find out if my Boston neighbors can let out their breath. I'm still holding mine.

And at the same time, it's been hard to listen to, watch, or read the news with my curious, observant kids present. "What happened?" I was asked this morning, as I was desperately trying to listen to Morning Edition to find out, myself, what happened in Boston overnight. Desperately, because of the apparent urgency--the way in which it was clear that the radio hosts didn't know themselves exactly what was happening--and also, because my kids kept interrupting me with their own questions. Bella asked me turn off the radio so I could explain to her the news that I had barely been able to hear or digest.

Kids think we know. Not only are we supposed to know what's happening, but we're supposed to filter the news to them in a sensitive way that makes them feel safe. The National Association of School Psychologists says to: 

• 1) Be careful what little eyes see and ears hear. Children are less able to handle the intensive, detailed coverage of an event.
• 2) Reassure children that they are safe. Remind them that trustworthy people are in charge and helping.
• 3) Maintain a normal routine. Model calm and control.
• 4) Stick to the facts. Don't stereotype people that might be associated with violence.
• 5) Keep the lines of communication open. Be aware of children's emotional state.

It used to be I tried very hard not to let my kids know when bad things were happening in the news. Here's when I admit that this week, I mostly gave up.

 Last night, after the surveillance videos of the bombing suspects were released, I spent a few minutes scrutinizing the videos online, bewildered by the very unprecedented nature of such a manhunt. "Who are they?" Bella asked, before I could even get to the bottom of the article. And so began a conversation about suspects and manhunts and surveillance videos and many, many questions to the effect of, "but HOW did they know it was those two guys? Out of all the people who were there?"

 I wanted to say: "You'll understand better when you're old enough to watch Homeland, honey." It's when real life is full of the stuff of grown-up TV, that parents get tested. 

This was the week, too, when I had to explain to my daughters that the US Senate had failed to pass the gun control measures that are needed to change the culture of guns and increase safety in our nation. We as a family have written letters, started and signed petitions, and attended rallies to show our support for these measures. And I was left having to explain to my kids about the NRA, and about some Americans' love affair with weapons, and about the way political campaigns work. I also told them that there are a lot of people who care deeply about gun safety, including our president, and that hopefully change will yet come.

At the time of this writing there are 12 people confirmed dead, with at least 40 still missing after the fertilizer plant explosion in West, Texas. Somehow, with all that's happened this week, I don't think my kids know about this terrible tragedy, yet. If and when they ask about it, I will tell them what I know, and how I feel: sick with sorrow.

Perhaps all we can ever do, as parents, is be ourselves. 

Who Taught You to Say THAT?!

Louisa, my almost two-year-old, is in a tape-recorder mode lately. She repeats the last word or phrase that she hears. Excerpts from her conversation last night with my mother, via FaceTime:

Savta: "Louisa, are you having a birthday soon?"
Louisa: "Birthday soon."
Savta: "Are you going to get presents?"
Louisa: "Get presents."
Savta: "Will there be cake?"
Louisa: "Cake."

Humans are born imitators. From the time babies are able to focus and see their parents, they are studying facial expressions and learning how to be behave like other humans. Since Louisa spends all her time with her family, we know exactly where her new language is coming from: us. It's also clear that sometimes she doesn't know what she's saying. She's just repeating, on auto-pilot. Beware the occasional verbal slip-up in her presence if you'd prefer she not toddle around the apartment muttering, "shit!" (oh, no, of course nothing like this has ever happened in our house...)

While the imitation starts when they're babies, it doesn't stop there. As they grow, kids continue to repeat what they hear, often without understanding the context or subtext of the phrases that they use. And of course, from the day they join a social environment such as preschool, or start watching television or listening to the radio, their language doesn't just come from their family anymore.

This hit home for me this week when my 8-year-old brought home a manuscript for a play written by her friend, in their free time at school. Ruby said she had offered to type and print five copies, because the author didn't have a printer at home. After she'd typed for a while,  I insisted she finish her homework and get ready for bed, and told her I'd finish the typing. But then I read the play. Here are some choice lines. (Don't try too hard to understand this. Dramatic influences seem to come via Ionesco): 

spagetti: are you single?
plum: raise your hand if spagetti cheated on you!
plum: pizza, stop now! no way i will ever be nice to you!
pizza: are you single
sugar plum: yes you’re annoying
pizza: thanks
plum: (smack head)
pizza: ohh and plum you’re a liar
plum: i just didn’t want you to cheat on me and sugar plum break up with pizza.  he’s a liar.

So, what, parents, would you do with this little piece of literature? I shared it with Josh and predictably we both said, "Where did they get this language from? Who talks like this?"That always seems to be the first thing we want to know--who and what the kids are imitating, when they speak in ways that don't sound familiar. 

Parents are often quick to blame others for the influences on their children, as in: my child isn't allowed to watch all those bad shows, but then my kid hears about them from the other kids [the ones with permissive, terrible parents]. Certainly, television plays a role in our kids' loss of innocence, so to speak, and it's an uphill battle to keep them sheltered from what often amounts to a Netflix-queue-o'-crap. But my kids are allowed to watch television, with limits, so I'm not about to preach in favor of abstinence from pop culture. Pop culture seeps in in many ways, and yes, kids are influenced by each other. Chalk it up to life in a social community. 

In the end, where the influence came from matters less than the effect of those influences, and how they manifest in the way that kids act--in this case, literally dramatize--the world that they are struggling to understand. I've noticed that when my kids and their friends make "plays", they sometimes act out nasty behavior between people: meanness, murders, and the like. They use play and fantasy to explore elements of life that are frightening, and off-limits. And that's fine, as long as they know they're off-limits--we discuss how good people would and should act in a similar situation.

So what did I do with the curtain-raiser at hand? I certainly didn't print it. I wrote an email to Ruby's teachers, telling them about the play: "I found the content .... unpleasant, and I don't feel comfortable reproducing it." I wanted the teachers to be aware so they can listen for the language kids are using in their daily interactions. 

And I explained to Ruby exactly what my objections were: rude, nasty characters and discussions that don't belong in a third grade play. She was incredulous at first--she said I didn't "get" the play (she's right! generational divides, already), and also, what would she say to her friends? So I told her she could tell a white lie and say she wasn't allowed to use the computer. She did admit that the play didn't make a lot of sense, anyway. And then she dropped it.

But meanwhile, I have to wonder (she says, in her Carrie Bradshaw voice-over). Did I squelch a necessary creative outlet? Or will Ruby simply avoid bringing home the next play for me to see? 

2 Planes, 2 Buses, 3 Airports, 3 Kids

Thoughts on bringing a gaggle of children (okay, two relatively mature elementary school kids and one energetic 23-month-old a month shy of needing to have her own airplane seat) on a vacation that involved two airplanes, two buses, three airports, and the better part of two travel days:

First, no matter what happens on said journey, you did this to yourself. You decided that taking this gaggle of children on vacation was worth your while, your money, your time, and your headaches. So harness your patience, and breathe.

Second, in any given public place, such as the transfer bus from the airport parking to the terminal, fifty percent of the strangers sitting beside you will find your toddler cute, and fifty percent will wish she doesn't exist, at least not in the same bus at the same time (especially if she's nap-deprived and crying: check). Smile, if you feel like it, at the pro-child contingent. Pretend the other half doesn't exist.

Third, a know-it-all flight attendant, on seeing your toddler cough-choking on apple slices that she is so ravenous for, she forgets to chew, will feel obliged to swoop in, push a handful a tissues in your face, and offer a stern recrimination: "Cover her mouth or you will get the entire plane sick." When you tell the attendant that the child is not sick, just a normal ravenous choking toddler, she will roll her eyes at the horrible offending passenger: you. 

Fourth, toddlers who are used to sleeping in cribs don't like to sleep on laps in planes. Not one wink. All day long. "No nap, Mommy." Mommy may feel pangs of jealousy that Daddy is reading a book, while she is wrestling with overtired Toddler. But whenever Toddler is passed to Daddy, she says, "I want Mommy." See point number one, and breathe.

Fifth, children over the age of six are remarkably able to entertain themselves on planes. Anyone who has children approaching that age should think long and hard about having another one, which would revert said parents back into the darkness of having to use airplane lavatory changing tables. And having to keep active toddlers from touching anything in said lavatory while washing hands post diaper-change. Just sayin'.

Sixth, people who paid for an expensive shared airport transfer don't appreciate having a toddler on their bus. Or having to wait while the toddler's parents wrangle with a carseat that is not designed to be attached to a bus seat that has no seatbelts. Or having to wait even longer while those same parents complain to the bus company for promising a carseat and then providing one that is borderline unsafe. 

Seventh, and this may be the most important point: being away from home with your gaggle of kids is a hoot. Frustrating and exhausting at times, for sure. But out in the world, showing your kids what you like to do for fun, and without the ringing phone or demanding schedule or homework, you might just remember the joy of being human. And of being a parent. Feeling gratitude for our good fortune to know such joy. 

On the Shores of Lake Wobegon

Sitting in a circle on a grassy field beside a lake, fifteen or twenty parents joined together in a discussion at a school shabbaton, almost two years ago. The discussion leader, Rabbi Laurie Katz Braun, who is also a parent in our school, asked us to go around the circle and say three positive and three negative traits of our children.

Within minutes, parents in the circle were crying. It was very intimate, and very cathartic.

Why did the prompt evoke so much emotion? 

The positive traits, while important to appreciate in one's children, were predictable: She's creative. He's funny. She's loving. He's kind. She's intelligent. He's full of life.

The negative traits brought out something different. Everyone loves their children, and we all do our best to love all parts of them. But how often are we asked, outside of a therapist's office, to speak openly about their imperfections? How often do we offer to do so? The discussion of children's negative traits brought out elements of pain and fear. Mothers and fathers spoke about the challenges of raising children who are not what they might have expected; who have needs that sometimes seem beyond their powers to meet.

It's easy to feel (especially while flipping through Facebook), that everyone's lives are just perfect. Smiling kids, successful parents, trophies and performances and A's are blasted out into the world: the product of parents' pride. But what happens when perfection is expected? We only say the good things, so that any kind of difficulty becomes a secret. Welcome to Lake Wobegon, "where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average."

That parents' circle taught me something I will not soon forget. As I listened to the other parents talk about their challenging children, I realized that Josh and I are not alone. Our kids are not perfect. They each have their own challenges, but I won't pretend that they are equally challenging. We have one child who has required us to sharpen our parenting skills more than the others. It helps immeasurably to know that we're not alone.

Just as you can work for years with someone and not know their salary, so too do parents avoid discussing their kids' challenges. No one wants to out their kids as having problems, and fair enough: children deserve to be the bearers of their own issues. But on the other hand, there's nothing like feeling supported, especially when you're doing something hard, like parenting kids with all their varied needs. I hope other parents in that circle gained strength, as I did, from the simple acknowledgment of how hard it can be.

Thank you to the parents and friends--you know who you are--who have made me feel that I'm not alone. Parenting is a journey, and at times the road is steep. No one ever said it was going to be easy.


[p.s. I want to emphasize that the parenting circle at the shabbaton was not about parenting children with disabilities--it was just about parenting. But perhaps because of where the discussion went, Rabbi Laurie read an essay by Emily Perl Kingsley, which offers a poignant analogy to explain what it's like parenting a child with special needs. You've prepared for a trip to Italy, but surprise! You're going to Holland. Click here to read it: Welcome to Holland.]