Number one fan
My husband walked into the living room where I was sitting in front of the computer reading, catching up on four days of blogs and news after the first days of Sukkot.
"Your number one fan wants you to catch up on your blog. He doesn't know what's happened in his life over the past thirteen days!"
What can I say? It's been a busy few weeks. The Jewish holidays are like that. We pass from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur to Sukkot to Simchat Torah in a matter of weeks. When we're not preparing for meals and visitors, we're in synagogue and eating. And when all of the meals and services are done, we're recovering.
The recovery is hardest on the kids whose schedules are completely out of whack. I look at my mountains of dishes and laundry and sigh; but then I look at my children who have to switch from sleeping in late, staying up even later, to waking up early for the piano lessons for which they haven't practiced in days, and cringe. Not surprisingly, they are completely over-tired and uncooperative. My kids and I are off for the week for Sukkot, but the piano lessons and soccer games don't stop; nor does my need to prepare for my classes. That's the problem with these breaks: the world around us doesn't stop concurrently.
My husband has discovered this painful truth as the holidays have compounded his feelings of being overwhelmed with classes, his externship, and his research. But once the holiday candles are lit, he lets it go. I don't know if he is able to compartmentalize his life better than I am, or if he is simply better at living in the moment. I hold onto each worry, each concern, each fear and dread for dear life. I carry them around like an amulet to ward of the worst that could possibly happen. If I imagine the worst to come, I tell myself pessimistically, it will never happen. It's the converse of Theodore Herzl's famous quote "If you will it, it is no dream". If I dream it, I will it away. My lifetime of magical thinking.
And me, a grown woman.
A miracle has occurred in my home this week. We have had a visit from a dear friend from Texas. She is now living in Washington, D.C. with her sweet, beautiful baby girl, a teething, drooling, bright-eyed and bouncy bundle of love. It has been pure joy having them here. The kids are naturally enamored, and I have had the pleasure of holding and singing to this adorable little creature. I've missed having a baby around. My children have especially enjoyed having her to play with and sing to and entertain. Even my whirlwind toddler has slowed down enough to take in the cooing and gurgling new friend.
The miracle? That I'm able to hold a soft, sweet-smelling baby without the painful tugging of my maternal heart-strings. Maybe I'm just too tired to even think about the sleepless nights and midnight feedings. Maybe my plate's just too full right now.
It is nice to see that my husband hasn't lost his touch. He can still put a baby to sleep better than just about anyone I know, soft-spoken squishy grandmas and preternaturally calm moms, included. Five minutes in his arms or on his chest and babies melt into dreamy mush. It's a skill I always envied and appreciated. I wish he could do the same for me.
The holidays drive on relentlessly. Another week of preparations will be followed by a few more days of celebration, followed by the familiar, but truncated recovery period. We will all hurdle forward sleep-deprived and bleary-eyed, moody and stressed, until...retirement? If then.
The holidays have been beautiful. We have been so fortunate to have been invited out for most of the festive meals, dining al fresco in our friends' decorated and lit Sukkot, the rustic, unstable leafy-topped huts that have popped up around our neighborhood on porches, between houses, in backyards, or like ours, tucked between the garage and the apartment building. Some are made of wood, some of metal and canvas, or blue tarp. It's an annual religious shanty town reminding us of the temporary and precarious nature of life. It's all in God's hands.
So why do I struggle to let go? Why can't I let my problems melt away in my husband's arms, like a sleeping baby? Maybe that's the lessons of Yom Kippur, the day of fasting and atonement, and Sukkot, the festival of canvas huts where we learn that security comes from God alone. A lot of our life is out of our control: the weather, our health, fortunes, children. We have to remain vigilant to protect ourselves and those we love, but at some point we have to let it go, live in the moment, let sleep take us like a limp baby, put our faith in something or someone outside of ourselves.
Like my number one fan. Scootch over, Kiddo. I'm ready for a good night's sleep.
"Your number one fan wants you to catch up on your blog. He doesn't know what's happened in his life over the past thirteen days!"
What can I say? It's been a busy few weeks. The Jewish holidays are like that. We pass from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur to Sukkot to Simchat Torah in a matter of weeks. When we're not preparing for meals and visitors, we're in synagogue and eating. And when all of the meals and services are done, we're recovering.
The recovery is hardest on the kids whose schedules are completely out of whack. I look at my mountains of dishes and laundry and sigh; but then I look at my children who have to switch from sleeping in late, staying up even later, to waking up early for the piano lessons for which they haven't practiced in days, and cringe. Not surprisingly, they are completely over-tired and uncooperative. My kids and I are off for the week for Sukkot, but the piano lessons and soccer games don't stop; nor does my need to prepare for my classes. That's the problem with these breaks: the world around us doesn't stop concurrently.
My husband has discovered this painful truth as the holidays have compounded his feelings of being overwhelmed with classes, his externship, and his research. But once the holiday candles are lit, he lets it go. I don't know if he is able to compartmentalize his life better than I am, or if he is simply better at living in the moment. I hold onto each worry, each concern, each fear and dread for dear life. I carry them around like an amulet to ward of the worst that could possibly happen. If I imagine the worst to come, I tell myself pessimistically, it will never happen. It's the converse of Theodore Herzl's famous quote "If you will it, it is no dream". If I dream it, I will it away. My lifetime of magical thinking.
And me, a grown woman.
A miracle has occurred in my home this week. We have had a visit from a dear friend from Texas. She is now living in Washington, D.C. with her sweet, beautiful baby girl, a teething, drooling, bright-eyed and bouncy bundle of love. It has been pure joy having them here. The kids are naturally enamored, and I have had the pleasure of holding and singing to this adorable little creature. I've missed having a baby around. My children have especially enjoyed having her to play with and sing to and entertain. Even my whirlwind toddler has slowed down enough to take in the cooing and gurgling new friend.
The miracle? That I'm able to hold a soft, sweet-smelling baby without the painful tugging of my maternal heart-strings. Maybe I'm just too tired to even think about the sleepless nights and midnight feedings. Maybe my plate's just too full right now.
It is nice to see that my husband hasn't lost his touch. He can still put a baby to sleep better than just about anyone I know, soft-spoken squishy grandmas and preternaturally calm moms, included. Five minutes in his arms or on his chest and babies melt into dreamy mush. It's a skill I always envied and appreciated. I wish he could do the same for me.
The holidays drive on relentlessly. Another week of preparations will be followed by a few more days of celebration, followed by the familiar, but truncated recovery period. We will all hurdle forward sleep-deprived and bleary-eyed, moody and stressed, until...retirement? If then.
The holidays have been beautiful. We have been so fortunate to have been invited out for most of the festive meals, dining al fresco in our friends' decorated and lit Sukkot, the rustic, unstable leafy-topped huts that have popped up around our neighborhood on porches, between houses, in backyards, or like ours, tucked between the garage and the apartment building. Some are made of wood, some of metal and canvas, or blue tarp. It's an annual religious shanty town reminding us of the temporary and precarious nature of life. It's all in God's hands.
So why do I struggle to let go? Why can't I let my problems melt away in my husband's arms, like a sleeping baby? Maybe that's the lessons of Yom Kippur, the day of fasting and atonement, and Sukkot, the festival of canvas huts where we learn that security comes from God alone. A lot of our life is out of our control: the weather, our health, fortunes, children. We have to remain vigilant to protect ourselves and those we love, but at some point we have to let it go, live in the moment, let sleep take us like a limp baby, put our faith in something or someone outside of ourselves.
Like my number one fan. Scootch over, Kiddo. I'm ready for a good night's sleep.
posted by law school widow at 11:23 PM
1 Comments:
Thank you for the beautiful time with your wonderful family! The baby and I have been singing the "chiquita banana" song all day. I so admire the way you manage the happy, energetic, smart children, the new environment, and the chagim with such grace. Thanks!
I had to laugh when I read the blog, as I also handle fear and uncertainty by imagining the worst. It makes the good things seem like happy surprises, and cushions the bad. We do what we can, yes?
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