Mid-CenturyModernMoms

Thank You Note Season

By Nina Rubin

Thank you note season starts a little early down here in the south.  In Georgia, school is over by late May or the first days of June, so all the end-of-year honorifics get cranking the minute the buds appear on the trees, which in Atlanta is actually late April.  Spring unleashes not only pollen, but an avalanche of graduation parties, weddings, engagement and baby showers.

This year in our little family we have Jaws graduating from college and Grumble's Confirmation.  Graduation ... well, you know what that is.  Confirmation?  In the Reform Jewish tradition, which started in 19th century Germany, Confirmation is the culmination of one's formal Jewish studies...and it's big deal.  It's usually done at the end of 10th or 11th grade, coinciding with the Jewish holiday Shavuot which commemorates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai and the so-called "first fruits" of the harvest.  The ritual has a deeply Lutheran high-church pomp and circumstance aesthetic -- the kids wear robes, sometimes the girls carry flowers, there is much speechifying and the kids write a "creative" service. In old historically German-Jewish congregations like The Temple, you'll hear the organ pumping out sturdy old Reform hymns.  All in all, it's the kind of "show" that prompts people to give gifts. 

But wait, this isn't about Confirmation, it's about thank you notes. See, I have a thing about hand written thank you notes.  Call me old fashioned, call me quaint, I like real thank you notes on real stationery. People have actually complimented me on my thank you notes. So I'm a major nag on the topic.  Silly me, I just don't think an e-mail thank you always cuts it.

With teenagers one has to be flexible. Teenagers and thank you notes...yeah, it's a horror movie.  Especially when you were married to a rabbi for 22 years and congregants not only sent you stuff and expected to be thanked, but were secretly rating you (and your kids) on the promptness and quality of your thank you notes. 

Imagine your child's bar mitzvah where the whole congregation had been invited...and fed. Think 400 thank you notes.  You gotta feel for clergy kids.  It's a crushing number of thank yous.  So here's what we did for our kids:  Printed up 400 generic thank you notes in the own child's handwriting that said something like: 

"I am so pleased that you could be with me when I was called to the Torah.  Thank you for honoring me with your presence and your gift." 

Friends and family got real handwritten notes, but the rest of the pack got the pre-printed generic ones.  I'm reasonable and compassionate, but in the end, there will be thank you notes.

So now let's up the ante:  we're in the South where people are Southern, make eye contact, and talk slowly. Thank you notes?  Not optional, mandatory.  Roll the soundtrack:

Me:  Sweetie, you have another package.

Grumble:  Huh?

Me:  I think it's from one of the Temple ladies in Dad's torah class, Mrs. Hutzenplutzenreuther.

Grumble:  Who?

Me:  You know, Mrs. Hutzenplutzenreuther who invited us for dinner when we first moved here?  The one who brought me roses from her garden (thank you note written).

Grumble:  Whatever.  [OPENS PACKAGE]  Oh, cool!  A travel alarm clock.  [DROPS WRAPPING PAPER ON FLOOR AND RESUMES PLAYING GRAND THEFT AUTO].

Me:  Did you send a note to the Blumenthals?  They made a donation to the youth fund in honor of your Confirmation. [Teenager has no concept that even there is a youth fund.]

Grumble:  You didn't give me their address.

Mom:  Yeah, I did.  It's listed in the synagogue directory which is on the dining room table . . . with your stationery. 

Teenager:  [THROUGH CLENCHED TEETH] I said I'd do it.  Back off, Barbie!

At times like these, it's the shrill voice of you own mother you hear.  You have morphed a shrill Harpie, a relentless nag clinging to the opinion of others, as measured through the currency of thank you notes.  You are an enforcer, a bad cop, an evil cyborg grownup who sees the rolling of eyes behind closed doors.

But here's the thing: You also know you're doing the right thing.  By insisting on something as old fashioned and Luddite as a hand-written thank you note, you are making your stand for manners and the power of the pen.  I don't know about you, but most of the time I actually think it's worth it.

 

Mixed Messages

So much is going on at our house that I feel the need to unburden myself or I'm gonna 'splode from all the information overload. There's good news, there's bad news, there's insanity, and there is relative calm. Oh, and there are two nutty teenagers that live to change the equilibrium at any given moment. Because, you know, they're teens!

So what's new?

The Boy made high honor roll in school. HIGH HONOR ROLL. You have no idea of the nachas this gives me. I'm so very proud of him for finally, after 11 years in school, buckling down and deciding to maybe, perhaps, um...do his work. Because that's a good idea if you're trying to get into college, isn't it?

But is he happy? Why no, because I'm a bitch to him and I never do anything nice for him and he hates me and hopes I have a heart attack and die. He's just a bundle of joy these days. I'm so sick of being screamed at I just want to duct tape his mouth shut. I won't, but don't think I don't fantasize about it. And just what is it that he's so angry about? Oh, I had the unmitigated gall to ask him to dig up some weeds in the garden. Last week. And then again every freaking day. But he won't do it, and he says that he gets no pleasure from gardening, so why should he do it? Um, maybe because you eat the food I grow from my garden? Could that be a good reason? Evidentially not.

And then there was that party. The one my darling son held while I was out of town. The one he was told not to even THINK about. But he did it anyways, and there was alcohol and probably pot and a whole bunch of kids spread all over our front hill. How did I find out about the party? Well, first I found an empty liter bottle of gin in his closet. That was a fun discussion. And because I am the suspicious type (do you wonder why?), I checked his Facebook page. Facebook is awesome for catching kids doing bad things. They're so dumb they leave up photos of the parties. All you have to do is follow the photos. I did, and lo and behold, that was our porch with my son holding a beer can looking particularly wasted on a friends photo set. Ahem. I could probably get a job with Scotland Yard. I'm that good.

Consequently, things are up and down with him. School = good. Home = bad.

The other one? The Girl? She's gonna drive me absolutely bonkers writing a paper on a book she read for school. She hated the book. So what else is new? She hates reading of all kinds. Sort of a disappointment for a serious book lover and writer like myself, but what can I do? Her father is an engineer. Say no more.

The deal is, if she persists in whining and nagging and complaining, at some point I'll come to her rescue just to shut her up. Guilty as sin, I am. But gosh, how much whining can one person take? My tolerance is low, apparently.

Her schooling is coming along despite the fact that her tutor is dyslexic (I know!) and not overly bright. Sweet as sugar and helpful as can be, but OMG, I eventually insert myself in the tutoring sessions in English because otherwise my kid would be learning the wrong stuff. Math and science, I'm not that worried about. The kid is doing fine in school.

However, the school. Well, as nice as they are about my son, they're nasty and unpleasant and totally unhelpful to my daughter. They do not like her. They do not like green eggs and ham either. Well, the feeling is mutual. Not about the green eggs, although I doubt I'd like those either. About the school administration. They are not nice to me, to her, and they're driving me beserko.

And then there's me. I'm doing ok, hanging in there. We're going as a family to Chicago in a couple of days for an event sponsored by Ford Motor Company. You would think that traveling with teenagers would be a piece of cake compared to toddlers and infants. Well... you would probably be wrong. The preparation before the trip is exhausting. We're being feted at a fancy restaurant for a Mother's Day dinner, which meant that we had some shopping to do.

The Boy has outgrown every single piece of clothing he owns, so we had to get him pants and shirts and a pair of shorts just in case the weather ever cleared up in Chicago. Apparently the weather will never clear up in Chicago. Sigh.

The Girl only owns summer dresses that fit well. And no decent pants. More shopping. Like the Girl, my only dress that is currently in style and that fits after a major weight loss is a strapless summer frock. Off to another store to get me something springy but with sleeves and a bit of skin coverage. I hate to shop, I hate to spend money on clothes, and I hate to take my kids shopping. So this week was really swell. 

Oh, and the allergies. The allergies! We all are suffering. The sniffles, the nosebleeds, the itchy eyes, the rashes.

All in all, a jolly good time at our house! So what's going on with you?

What happened to my little helpers?

A major Jewish holiday, Passover, is starting on Saturday night. With the onset of Passover comes an amazing amount of household work. Not only does every single corner of the house have to be cleaned to rid every room of possible leavened products, but the dishes, silverware, pots and pans, and utensils all have to be changed. This means emptying out your kitchen and replacing everything with special Passover dishes, etc. Wow, what fun this is. Next comes covering your counters with tin foil or plastic so your Passover dishes don't touch a counter that has touched leavened products. Your kitchen ends up looking like a space ship gone insane with all the tin foil.

Once all that is done, and you're suitably exhausted, it's time to cook two HUGE dinners for large crowds of family and friends. Special foods. Foods that contain no leavening, and are made of odd things like matzah meal and potato starch. Everything cooked from scratch because the prepared products are disgusting. Salty, tasteless, and scary.

Now, when my teens were little, they were great helpers. They would get all excited about turning over the kitchen, especially when they got to the tape. Taping the tin foil down is evidentally a way cool thing for a kid to do. Both of my kids liked to help with the cooking. They weren't all that excited about the cleaning, but they understood that no cleaning meant no cooking and no eating...for a week. Um, yeah. I could always count on them to peel potatoes, carrots and apples. They liked to chop up spices and vegetables. They are both decent cooks, as I have always had them help me with dinners as well as special meals.

But this year? Help? They think not. Both of them have been completely resistant to helping out. When I call them down for a quick job, it's always "five more minutes" or "I"ll do it later". And then they never come down. So of course, the nagging starts, and with the nagging comes the kids yelling back at me and calling me all sorts of delightful names. I get mad, they get madder, I get madder still, and things just don't get done.

I've make everything myself so far, and the rule has always been that nobody eats ANYTHING unless they make sure that it's OK to eat now and not for the Seders. This isn't a new rule, it's the same rule we've always had. But my son... he doesn't follow rules anymore. Rules are made for other people, not for him. He's special, you see. Specially obnoxious. He went through the Passover food bags and helped himself liberally to things that were not for him. Like an entire Passover rainbow layer cake. Oh, and an entire jar of chocolate spread (It's an Israeli thing). But this was the real kicker. He ate a huge bowl of chopped liver. Not only doesn't he like chopped liver, but it wasn't even finished. I hadn't put it thru the blender yet and it was big chunks of liver, onions, and hard-boiled eggs. YUM! He pronounced it disgusting but at the whole bowl anyways, because he was 'hungry.' 

I'm ready to strangle him. I miss my little helpers. Yes, they made huge messes in my kitchen, but sharing the holiday preparations with my kids was delightfully special. I loved watching their kitchen skills progress, their interest in combining ingredients grown, and their ability to change a recipe to suit our tastes take hold. I don't like these snarling teenagers that just want to take, take, take and do little to nothing in return. I know it's a phase, but do I have to like this phase? Because right now, I do not like it at all.

Random thoughts on Kids, Traditions, and Memories

Posted by Judy

I love family traditions.  I hold tight to them even when no one else remembers them the way I do.  That can make for lively conversations in my family.  I think I finally realized, once again, that no two people (especially family members!) remember things the same way.  And, as I've come to understand, that's okay.

This hit me upside the head a few days before Christmas this year.  When my ex-husband and I split up in 1992, our sons were 6 and 4.  We knew we had to put the boys' interests first.  We had to get along as divorced parents for them.  I said then, and we've stayed true to this, that I never wanted them to worry that we were both at a soccer game.  We've played nice.  And in figuring out the holidays, I said I didn't want their Christmas fractured; I didn't want them to have to open presents and then leave to go somewhere else.  So, whoever had the kids for Christmas would get them from the afternoon of the 24th until the morning of the 26th.  Yes, that meant that every other year I'd be without my boys for the whole day, but it also meant on the years when I had them, I'd have them uninterrupted.  On the years the boys were going to be with their dad, we'd have our Christmas on the 23rd.  Santa'd come, we'd have our traditional egg casserole for breakfast (sausage and lots of cheese--very Wisconsiny!), and the full blown holiday feast.  I was building tradition.

Well, this year, the boys are both in their 20s.  And it was my year for Christmas. Then, they mentioned their dad wanted them to come over late on Christmas day. I felt myself start to get angry.  Uh, no, I wanted to say, that's NOT the way we do it.  I held my tongue with them and arranged to meet their dad for coffee.  I mentioned it to him.  His response?  That's not the way we do it.  I looked at him in amazement.  He really wasn't trying to be a jerk.  I explained that it was, and he said, well, okay.  Then I softened.  We're all adults now (well, sort of).  Hey, if you want the boys to come out Christmas night, and they want to, fine by me.  I went home and chatted with older son.  I told him, hey, if you want to go out to Dad's . . . He answered, well, yeah, that's what we've always done.  No, I said, it's not.  Younger son, wandered in to ask about cookies, then joined in the conversation.  Don't we always split Christmas, he asked.  I looked at them in amazement.  No, we don't.  I felt the urge to pull out the divorce decree (well, I'd have to find it first) and all our Christams pictures, but then older son said, don't worry, Mom, it doesn't really matter.  We'll go out the 26th.

I made some tea and started to stew about it,  All my efforts to establish traditions and make holly jolly Christams memories for them had failed.  But, as I munched on cookies and sipped my tea I realized that I'd actually accomplished what I wanted -- smooth, happy Christmas memories for them, that didn't include shuffling them around between houses and parents who were sniping at one another.  We still have the same egg casserole (well, except for one year and don't ask about that!), we make the same cookies, and Christmas doesn't have to happen on just one day of the year.

So, they have their memories (even though they might be wrong) and we still have traditions and the most important things are the feelings and emotions the memories evoke, rather than that they're all in lockstep with mine.

Labels: Family: Never a dull moment, holidays, kids, parenting

Moments of Thanks

Posted by Judy

"You can plan all you want to. You can lie in your morning bed and fill whole notebooks with schemes and intentions. But within a single afternoon, within hours or minutes, everything you plan and everything you have fought to make yourself can be undone as a slug is undone when salt is poured on him. And right up to the moment when you find yourself dissolving into foam you can still believe you are doing fine."

Wallace Stegner, Crossing to Safety

Thirteen years ago, just before dinnertime on the Monday of Thanksgiving week, my seven-year old son was hit by a car. Now twenty, he'll be arriving home from college tomorrow; his twenty-one year old brother the next day. We have much for which to be thankful. But that night, for a few moments, I wasn't sure I'd ever breathe a thankful breath again. When the neighbor boy burst into my house, yelling, "Eric just got hit by a car!" my world froze. I wasn't sure I could face what awaited me just outside my front door. Somehow, I propelled myself outside, tossed the phone to the neighbor and told him to call 911. When I hit the porch steps I heard my son's cries and I thought, Okay, he's alive. When I knelt by his side, I saw his feet moving and told myself, Okay, he's not paralyzed. And I knew right then we were incredibly lucky. And I was thankful beyond measure.

Later, after the ambulance ride, after the X-rays, after the doctor shook his head and said, just before releasing him, "He's fine. He shouldn't be but he is," I remembered the above Stegner quote. The salt had been just ready to pour down on me, on us, on our life. And then it didn't. But I knew how easily it could have rained down over our world. A different driver. A bigger, faster car. A shift in the trajectory of my son's body as it flew through the air. But, even now, I have to turn my mind away from those awful possibilities.

Our lives are full of such moments, but many times we don't even know it. We don't know what we've narrowly escaped, what's just missed us. And so, for what we know and don't know, I am thankful. For the times the salt didn't pour down and for the strength to continue when it did, I give thanks.

I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving, but even more, I wish you a spirit of thankfulness as you go about your lives everyday.

(cross posted at Not Afraid of the F Word)

Labels: Family: Never a dull moment, parenting, Thanksgiving, worry

wish lists (this is NOT my holiday post)

Posted by Judy

First, a disclaimer--this is NOT my "annual" christmas/holiday post.  I am a stickler for holding off on decorations and holiday music until after Thanksgiving.  So, now that that's established, I'll continue . . .

I love buying presents for birthdays and holidays.  It's fun, it's crazy, and I revel in it.  However, I have some pet peeves in the process and I may need help (or an intervention).  That's where you all come in.

Here's some background--I'm the mom/stepmom to 5 kids (Yes, 5.  We're like The Brady Bunch but without Alice.  I want Alice.  I wouldn't even make her wear a uniform.).  The children range in age from 14 to 22.  Three boys and two girls.  Three of them have December birthdays.  So, I'm gearing up for lots of present shopping.  I love when I have a great idea--one that I know will be perfect and one that I know said dependent hasn't even thought of yet.  Last year, that included a purple suitcase (don't ask).  The year before, it included a Cardinal's jersey.  But, if you have teenagers, you know it's harder to hit that perfect note than it was when they were little.  So, we ask for wish lists.  And these days, with our kids the ages they are, the list is usually dominated by those ubiquitous gift cards.  For Best Buy.  And Hollister.  Target.  Aeropostale.  Sephora.  You get the idea, I'm sure.

I HATE giving gift cards.  It's so impersonal.  Barely one step removed from "Here, go buy your own presents."  One of our children, when I commenetd last year that I didn't want a list of just gift cards suggested, sweetly, innocently, that we just give money then.  I bit my tongue. 

Now, I'm fine with slipping a gift card in a Christmas stocking.  I'll wrap one and put it under the tree (but, I'll put it in a box so they won't know for certainty that's what it is).  But I love giving honest to god, tangible, unwrappable gifts.  Gifts that can't be quietly and neatly slipped into a wallet.

So, here's my question--what the flip do you all do?

Labels: gift buying, kids, parenting