Yin and Yang

Six loads of laundry are folded and mostly put away. The dishes are done, except for the dishes of devoured late night kosher Chinese take-out. My year-long curricula are compiled, and my lesson plans for the next month are almost ready to go. But, I'm not quite yet ready to pat myself on the back.

I don't mean to be a Naderian "Nattering Nabob of Negativity", but I am a Jewish mother, so I notice things: the unswept or mopped floors, the piles of stuff that haven't been sorted, the toys that avoided earlier detection. I feel like I'm suffering the affliction of missing the silver lining for the cloud, missing the forest and the trees for the dirt ground, counting curses not blessings.

How can it be, after the holiest days of the Jewish year, days of spiritual renewal through prayer, fasting, and repentance, I'm right back to square one?

I have read often that happiness is a state of mind one does not pursue, but chooses. Perhaps it is time for me to set another path for myself, time to find joy and contentment in the life I have, not the life I'm waiting for.

I have a fabulous husband. He is working hard, day and night, to provide a better life for his family; yet he takes the time to shuttle kids to soccer games, hair salons, and pizza parlours, giving me the free time to accomplish my household chores. He prepares meals when I'm just too tired.

I have amazing kids. My son is having a wonderful year at school, he's making good friends, he practices his piano everyday without a fight, and has even gotten better about cleaning up his room. My older daughter scored her first goal in soccer today! She is growing into a poised, graceful, gorgeous little girl. She is frighteningly smart, and knows what she wants in life. The baby is developing such beautiful language skills. She soaks up everything like a sponge. She comes home singing new songs from daycare every week. She is learning to go on a potty, and she is already showing such gracious manners, greeting me each morning with a polite, lilting, "will you read to me, please?" Hamza, hamza.

I have a great job, that I'm excited to go to each day. I am truly enjoying teach physical education to young, bright, beautiful girls. My co-workers are kind and supportive, and the administrators are appreciative of the work I do.

I have the opportunity to volunteer time to my children's school once a week.

I have time to breathe, and think, and dream, and organize, and plan, and create.

Life is good, thank God.

It's a funny irony: Jews, Yehudim, are the people of thanksgiving. The root of Yehudah is hodu, thanks. Yet, we are also the people who have elevated "kvetching" to an art form. How do the two contradictions exist seamlessly in one people's psyche? Thankfulness and appreciation are truly spiritually elevating qualities. Complaining diminishes the soul.

A fluff piece in the news caught my eye this evening. A journalist A. J. Jacobs "lived" the precepts of the bible for a full year, growing a full beard, dressing in white, wearing sandals, and less superficially, refraining from gossip. Jacobs, a self-professed Agnostic, discovered giving up gossip was the hardest, but most life-changing part of the experience for him. He felt it made him a better person.

But it's hard, and therein lies the rub. We know that being thankful and positive and careful in the way we speak of others makes us better people, uplifts us, brings us closer to God, but it's so much easier and immediately satisfying to kvetch our way through life. It's the Jewish Yin and Yang.

Tomorrow, life goes back to normal. The Succot break is over and we're back to our daily life schedules. I'm good with that.

Consistency, predictability, reliability. It's boring, but it's a parent's best friend. My kids do well on a schedule. There are fewer fights at bed time, it's easier to get them to do homework or practice their piano. I'm more relaxed, too. After struggling over the past month with the "big stuff": atonement, repentance, gratitude, it will be nice to sweat the small stuff for a change.

But I have to remember the good things, too.