Take 88 of thinking, this isn't how it's supposed to be...

     Day 88ish of the Q ends the school year. No ice cream, pool parties, sweat dripping off uniforms, endlessly annoying teachers until the bitter end or crafty projects were had at the end of second and fifth grades. Instead, we wore masks, gloves, and followed taped lines to return textbooks. No soft, comforting hugs from teachers we've been with all year or climbing the rock one last time with good friends happened. During KK's last Zoom yesterday with his teacher reading aloud, I was overcome with sadness. June is always a hard month, as school ends, it's KK's birthday, and so many feelings from the summer he was born resurface. Yesterday, I just started crying in my red chair. Max asked me if I was crying. 

     "Yes, I'm crying. I'm sad the school year is ending this way. It sucks," I said.

     KK came over and told me I needed a hug. I did. Max was being a tween and seemed to carry on whatever he was doing.

     KK had this amazing teacher this year, but missed out on three months with her amazingness due to the Q. He missed playing tetherball at recess, running with his friends, and learning fractions at school. Max grew in more ways than height this year with a mostly fabulous group of teachers. A few ones he truly connected with and was equally sad to be finishing up his first year of middle school so much so that he said he didn't want the year to end! He actually liked learning from home, and excelled at it. He woke up on his own for his 9 a.m. zoom and mostly didn't complain about it. KK was the complete opposite. He needs his people.

    I'm allowing myself to be sad about the way the school year is ending. Let's not compare apples and tarantulas. Yes, we are very lucky to live in an amazing house, with no food insecurities, and feel safe. In no way am I discounting anyone else's struggles with my own. Everyone has something. Let's remember that.  

Mother's day in the Q

I'm just not the mom I thought I would be...

My guess is that we were all better parents before we had children or if you do not have children, you think you would do it better. Before children, I didn't want my kids to get Chanukah presents for every night; I thought I would work full-time and come home with adoring kids; dinner made and homework completed. Ha!

I didn't know that my husband would work so much when I was pregnant with my first (Max, 11, on the right) because he was in his intern year that I would worry he wouldn't be around when the baby was born. I didn't know I wouldn't be able to breastfeed like I planned. I didn't know I would be so lonely with just a baby to keep me company for hours on end. You know what else I didn't know? I didn't know how marvelous it would feel when my sarcastic kid laughs at my jokes, tells his own,  "gets" his math, uses his own money to purchase mother's day presents, writes me sweet notes when I need them or tells me when I look like I need a hug--then gives me one. 

My husband was there when Max was born and the days prior (albeit still working kind of) and even got a surprise week of paternity leave. By the way, fed is best and I should really get over not being able to breastfeed. Guilt. I made friends, went out, found ways by myself to be less lonely and eventually he started reacting and becoming a baby instead of an infant.

I thought I would build legos, draw pictures, cook, and all the other cutesy stuff on Pinterest. Ha. I do build legos, then the 7 year old takes it away because he needs that piece, we draw then someone gets frustrated or uses sharpie on the table, cooking is a hot mess (but fun and experimental with FAILING) and I really do not do Pinterest, so don't send me there. I find pockets of time 1:1 with each kid to be the most rewarding right now. I still trip over my pre-conceived notions of what I SHOULD be as a mother or as I imagined, but I'm working on just putting one foot in front another and doing the best I can. You should too.   

    

Zoomeral

     My great Aunt Miriam, 98, (my grandmother's sister) passed away this week. This morning was my first Zoom funeral. I saw cousins

Zoomeral attended by 25+ families

I haven't seen in years, heard stories of her and my grandmother. I actually appreciated being on Zoom and not IRL. I put on lipstick, just for Aunt Miriam, because she would have expected it. Aunt Miriam lived close to my Dad and Lynn and when I was growing up, she power walked all the time. I saw her at least once or twice a week and she always had her blouse tucked in and lipstick on her lips. Often she would be saying, allright, allright and shaking her head with her perfect beauty parlor hair standard in her generation. Aunt Miriam helped start the Golden Agers at the JCC, which meet where I attended elementary school (Chattanooga Jewish Day School) on Wednesdays for as long as I could remember. I don't remember a time when the old ladies and a scattering of men weren't there. They met in the room across from the preschool rooms and most likely played Mah Jongg, Canasta, Bridge, who knows what? Some times there were speakers talking about aging or who knows what? One day in elementary school I asked Aunt Miriam what would happen when she's not longer walking around helping the golden agers and she IS a golden ager? Her response was quick, I'll join them! Of course she would!

     I haven't seen Aunt Miriam in years, since she decided being home was where she wanted to be (as far as I know) and she didn't have visitors (to my knowledge other than immediate family). My guess is that she wanted to be remembered for her perfect hair, tucked in blouse, lipstick and power walk; not as someone who didn't go out, which is exactly the way I will remember her.

     The birds took over any silence on this morning's Zoomeral led by Rabbi Tendler. Social distancing didn't allow for a large gathering, but if not, there would have been a huge community outpouring of memories and support for Doc, Eddie, Gwen, Jonathan, Jennifer and Charles. May her memory be for a blessing and bring comfort to those who mourn.