A True Hero

The girls with our beloved Striker

Three days ago, our dog Striker died unexpectedly. Apparently, he tangled with some animal that was poisonous and although he may have won the battle, he lost the war. He lived by the tooth, and died by the tooth.

Always a hunter, as you would expect a Pointer to be, Striker would always dash out the front door and stalk various animals, usually successfully. When he was just a puppy, there was a squirrel that used to scamper along the fence next to our bay window and chatter at him, driving him to distraction. One day in his crate, I found all that remained of that squirrel - a single leg. After that, he killed a number of animals in our yard and around the house. A two and a half foot iguana (without the tail) took out a little notch from his tongue in its losing battle with Striker. Another iguana he chased into the pool, and he also killed a possum and a water rat, and those are just the battles we witnessed.

With the family, he was loyal and loving. In the mornings, when I would cuddle with Miriam, he would crawl into bed with us and lie right on top of me, with his head on my chest, sometimes wriggling in between us to get the maximum attention. He used to follow me from room to room, no matter how comfortable he was. He would compete with the girls for lap space, always moving in to steal their spot when one of them got up from my lap. He gave each and every member of our family his complete and unconditional love each day. At the end, as dogs do, he went off by himself to spare us the pain of seeing him die.

I don't know why he had to die, at only 5 years old. I don't know why it had to be in such a painful way. But I am certain that somehow, even his end was an act of sharing. He removed some kind of judgment from us, sacrificing himself for the family he loved so much. For that, as well as for the gift of his love,  I will always be grateful. 

Rest in peace, noble dog, loyal friend, hero.

Life on the Road

Last night, we arrived home after a 2-day, seemingly endless road trip from the mountains of North Carolina to South Florida. In the car were 5 kids, a dog, an intermittently cranky husband and yours truly, and behind us, we were towing a U-Haul trailer filled with furniture and whatnot.

It was a good thing we had the trailer, because I don't know how we could have fit all of our stuff in the car otherwise. On the way up, we had one less kid, since my son had gone a week early with his grandparents as a way of giving us extra room and reducing friction between him and his four sisters. Now we had him, plus all of his stuff.

We have an Expedition, so there are two back seats, and we were constantly doing a shell game, trying to rearrange the children to avoid fighting and minimize car sickness, as much as possible. On several occasions, the iPhone was our savior. When the little one was in tears because someone was mean to her, she stopped crying once she was offered the phone to play with. Other arguing was avoided by keeping the kids busy playing games or listening to music on the phone (a headphone splitter also came in handy). Of course, then we had fighting about who's turn it was to have the phone, but what can you do? Overall, it was a win.

Some of the car sickness complaints were successfully dealt with by putting a couple of drops of peppermint essential oil on a napkin and giving it to the girls to smell. I've found that having some key essential oils is a big help on a trip (and at home). Lavender helps minor cuts and scrapes heal quicker and relaxes the kids for bedtime. Tea tree, eucalyptus and lemon essential oils fight viruses and infections. It worked to help get rid of a nasty flu-like virus I had and that my daughter Mia was just starting to feel the effects of too. If you use essential oils, make sure you dilute them in another oil like almond or jojoba; otherwise, they can burn the skin.

Anyway, the good news is that we made it home safely. We will be returning the trailer tomorrow, which will be fantastic because I can't use my truck with that thing on the back since I don't know how to back up with it. When we got home, our pool was a swamp-like green color, but it is getting better since we added a bunch of shock. All in all, we're settling back in to normal life, with the exception of five kids rattling around with nothing much to do for the rest of the summer.

Anyone want to rent a kid or two?

A Slice of Americana

Every year, my kids look forward to the 4th of July parade in Blowing Rock, North Carolina, and this year was no exception. The town held the parade a day early, and as I was listening to the live bands in the park and looking at all of the happy families dressed in red, white and blue picnicking on the lawn, I thought that this is a bit of Americana that few people get to experience in the 21st century. It is like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

The parade features floats from local businesses, politicians and groups, dancing groups clogging their way down Main Street, fire trucks, tricked out equestrians, and a Shriner's band playing Souza tunes. There are clowns, old cars from the 1940's and '50's, dogs dressed up in patriotic ribbons, and a stiltwalker. This year, two of my daughters, Miriam and Leah, were also in the parade, tossing candy to the children along the street.

Blowing Rock is a small town nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, populated by earnest, polite and hardworking mountain people. In many ways, it is a throwback to simpler times, when people would greet you in the street even if they didn't know you. Older kids can wander through the park, to the ice cream store and on to the public pool without supervision or fear. Children address adults as "sir" or "ma'am".

I sort of grew up with Blowing Rock, having visited it just about every year since I was around 8 or 9 years old. My parents have owned a home here for 30 years. When I was a kid, it was even more quaint and less commercial, with a real 1950's style soda shop named Storie's. But the main parts have remained the same, and I am grateful that my children get to experience it.

Blowing Rock is a welcome respite from the unrestrained materialism prevalent in Boca Raton. Our annual summer trip serves as a reinforcement of the values we try to instill at home: kindness, hard work, respect, sharing and good manners. Just because we live in modern times doesn't mean that we have to give up on those positive values that helped form this country. Perhaps if we all tried to tap into that old time Americana, we could pull ourselves out of our overconsumption of media and connect with each other in more meaningful ways.

Public Opinion

When I go places with all my kids, I encounter all sorts of reactions. The most comment thing I hear from strangers is, “Are they all yours?” When I say that they are, I usually get some sort of blessing. I’m not knocking it; I will take all the blessings I can get. Sometimes I get other, more annoying reactions, though.

One time, we were on vacation and we went out to a restaurant. A man approached us and after giving our family a meaningful look asked us, “Don’t you have cable TV?” I am sure that he meant it as funny, but frankly, I had never considered television to be a form of birth control. That is kind of a scary concept to me, and anyway, not very reliable. We do have satellite TV, after all and (thank goodness) I consider my husband to be much more interesting than any program.

Some people look at us as if we are either really bad planners or freaks. I have actually had people ask if all of our children were planned. Yes, they were planned; none of my children is a result of a blonde moment. I am very clear on how the whole birds and the bees thing works and available ways of preventing conception, thank you very much. And no, none of my kids are twins; we didn’t get tricked by nature into having so many children. Likewise, we did not have so many kids because of religious restrictions or edicts.

The worst comment I ever heard was when I was pregnant with my youngest, Rebecca. I went to the OB/gyn for my first prenatal checkup and when I went to check out with the receptionist, she asked me if this was my first child. “No,” I told her with a smile, “it is my fifth.” The woman looked at me and replied, “I would kill myself.” With great effort, I restrained myself from giving her a piece of my mind. Suffice it to say that this person should not work at an OB’s office and is in desperate need of a filter between brain and mouth.

In the US, the average family size in 2009 is 2.05 children per woman, or basically zero population growth. However, in other times, the norm was 4, 5, and up to 8 children per family. In my family, my grandfather (born around 1910) was one of eight children, all sons. So the whole concept that having five kids is somehow undoable or bizarre is misguided.

They say that God gives you what you have the capacity handle, and I think that is true. When people marvel that I am so calm even with five kids, I reply that people who are high strung don't have five kids in the first place. I do know that I am thankful for each one of the very special people that I have been entrusted with. I am also grateful that in addition to my husband and me, they will always have each other. As an only child myself, that is important to me (and my husband, one of two children).

So the next time you see mom or dad with the courage to handle the hassles and logistics of taking a large family out in public, reserve the judgment and stick with the blessings. Specifically, you can bless us with abundant patience, peace and wealth because that is what we need.

The Courage to Invite

We love to entertain. We have a one-story house with an open floor plan and a huge back patio and yard and we invite people over fairly often. We have to; that’s the only way we have any kind of social life.

Many moons ago, we had a social life where people actually would invite us to parties or over for dinner. But that was before we had five kids. Apparently, something about that number is very intimidating, even to close friends.

I like to think that they want to invite us, but just as the words are about to escape their lips, visions of their house in shambles appear in their minds, with small savages wrapped in remnants of their curtains running around screaming as they smash their antique chairs to make a bonfire in the living room. Then they dismiss that crazy thought and remark on the weather.

So we have people come here, and yes, we like it. For one thing, it forces us to clean and declutter the house. And, of course, we enjoy sharing. It is relatively low stress to have people here because the kids have activities they can do and places that they can go to give us a modicum of peace and adult conversation. But I always thought it sure would be nice if someone would make the mental leap and invite us to their house.

Then someone did. It was a couple with a little girl who is friends with my 5-year old, Leah. The girls play with each other on Shabbat at the Kabblah Centre. The father, Lee, is very nice. His wife, Debbie, it turned out, went to the same middle school as I did. But they certainly did not number among our closest friends. Even so, they invited us to their home one Sunday, and we, shocked as we were, accepted.

We had a lovely time. We ate and drank together, watched some football, and the children played in the backyard. Nothing was broken. And it got me thinking: here was proof that it was possible to bring our big family over to someone else’s house and for everything to be just fine.

So, armed with this new confidence, I started to subtly grouse to my friends about how no one ever invites us anywhere. Slowly, our friends are getting the hint. For the first time ever, we were invited over for Thanksgiving.

Previously, the only invitation for Thanksgiving we ever got was to my parents’ house. However, since they moved to North Carolina for half the year and my dad started to teach at the university there, his teaching schedule has prevented us from being together for Thanksgiving.

My in-laws come down from upstate New York around Thanksgiving every year, but they always spend the holiday with my father-in-law’s son in Tennessee. Of course, it is also true that my in-laws have never invited us up to see them when they are in Florida for the season. They prefer to make the trip down to Boca one or two times during that period instead.

So, getting back to this Thanksgiving, our friends, Martina and Wolfgang, invited us over to their house, along with a wonderful group consisting of another couple with a baby, a single mom with two kids and another lady, all good friends of ours as well. I had already bought a turkey for our planned solitary holiday celebration, as well as some of the trimmings, which I brought over to share with the group. I went over early and cooked and prepared with Martina, and then went home to fetch my tribe.

Once again, we had a great time. The children played with each other and occasionally came in to grab some food as the adults ate and chatted. Only a couple of things got broken – a glass jar of gravy (not my child) and some parts of a porcelain tea set (unfortunately, my kid), which I will, of course, replace. But over all, the impact was minimal.

Martina told me that she’d had to work up the courage to invite us over, but that it was worth it. Now, another friend is trying to work up her courage as well. We may end up having a social life again, after all. Yay! Lepers no more…

The Teen Project

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know that I have five kids, ages 11 and under. So why am I writing about teenagers? One of my readers with teen boys asked me if I had any tips on dealing with teenage boys. No, I realized, I have no clue how to deal with teenage boys even though I will have one of my own in two years. In some ways, I feel that I have one now, since my son acts with the same moodiness, anger and lack of communication that I associate with the teen years, even though he’s still 11. So I have decided to do a little research to prepare both myself and my readers for the dreaded teen stage.

I know it’s cliché, but it is certainly true that kids grow up much faster these days than when we were kids. Blame it on the hormones in soy products, or on video games or the Internet, but I have seen it in my children and their friends. My daughters started playing with Barbie dolls long before they had the fine motor skills to actually dress her in her tiny clothes. They grew out of Barbie and most other toys by the age of 7. Now they’re into makeup.

Danny, it seems, was a little boy for such a short time. Even though I did my best to shelter him, he has grown up even faster than the girls. The girls have each other to be silly with, but my son hangs out with friends who have been exposed to technology and grown up entertainment with few limits. By 3rd grade, most of his friends had cell phones. Most of them had Playstations and Xboxes and got to watch R rated movies, and this influenced his expectations. My husband tells me that this is what boys do now. I still fight it tooth and nail, but I also don’t want my son to be a social outcast.

There are still pockets in American where kids act more like we did at that age. Like in small towns in the North Carolina mountains, or kids who have gone to orthodox Jewish school practically their whole lives. My teacher at the Kabbalah Centre, whose 15-year old son has gone to orthodox school and has been brought up living the halacha (rules and commandments in the Torah, Talmud and other holy books), suggested that Danny could amuse himself during Shabbat with Pokemon cards like her son. Danny grew out of Pokemon cards at age 7. I didn’t know how to explain this to her, since it is clear that although they live only a couple of miles away, our sons live in different worlds.

In cities, even small ones like where we live, childhood has shrunk. It remains to be seen if this means that the struggle of dealing with teenagers will last that much longer, or if it will remain the same length, just end earlier.

So in preparation, I have been reading up about teenagers and also talking to friends who have survived the teen years with their kids. I will be passing along what I learn to you, in hopes that it will help you with your own teens or pre-teens. If you have any experience or words of wisdom to pass along, please feel free to comment on this or subsequent posts.

Here’s the first thing I have learned about teens: they have a split personality. It’s sort of a Dr. Jekyl, Mr. Hyde thing. On one hand, they are the sullen, angry child chafing at your attempts to communicate with, teach and direct them. This is the person that you experience on a day-to-day basis. But, often, when they leave your sight, they transform into a mini-adult who is capable of being responsible, kind and respectful. Seem impossible? Think about this.

Have you ever had your pre-teen or teenager go to someone’s house without you and then gotten a report back about how wonderful he is she is? I have. Many times, as I am thanking that person for her kind words about my son, I wonder to myself if she has mixed him up with another kid. Is this the same kid who, just the day before, needed to be told ten times to do his chore, and then did it half-way? Is this the same boy who got annoyed at his sister for the smallest thing, screamed at her and then took her prize possession and threw it behind the bushes where she’ll never find it? Unbelievably, it is.

In other people’s houses, my son is an angel. He is helpful, respectful and friendly. I regularly have parents begging me to let my son come over to play with their boys, or to stay a little longer if he is already there. I have mothers who are literally planning to marry their daughters to my son. There is an older man at the Kabbalah Centre who tells me that my son is the only kid he knows who consistently goes out of his way to greet him and treats him respectfully.

Here’s my theory about why this happens. It is just like when my daughter, Miriam, was two and she went to preschool for the first time. When I dropped her off, and sometimes when I picked her up, she would have a temper tantrum, screaming and crying. Of course, I was concerned. So I talked to the teacher and the headmaster of the school. During the entire school day, Miriam was not only calm, but was laughing and having fun, participating in the activities with the other children. It was only with me that she acted out.

Apparently, it is common that kids misbehave with their parents even when they are fine with other caregivers because they feel they can let loose a little and show their real emotions in a safe place. I think this is the same idea at work with teenagers. Plus, when they look at us, their parents, we look like a big bundle of limitations, rules, micro-management and babying. That’s why they act that way with us, and it's no wonder.

Bottom line, the experts advise, is just to know that you are probably doing a better job at raising your teen than is immediately apparent. Teens, in some buried part of their brains, actually listen to you and then act on the guidance, values and advice you have given over the years. Just not in front of you.

What Your Financial Advisor Never Told You

Attention, single people, engaged people, newlyweds, and expectant parents! Whether you are a major spender or a major saver, a planner or a seat-of-your-pantser when it comes to money, there is a dirty little secret that you will never hear from your financial advisor or just about anybody else. Here it is:

Pre-school is as expensive as college, and can last just as long.

If you ever went to a financial advisor, took a personal finance course or read a book about it, you have been repeatedly hit over the head with two things: save for college and save for retirement. But no one ever says “save for pre-school.”

Maybe it is because I live in Boca Raton, but my experience is that the pre-schools cost as much as tuition at a university. All this to teach toddlers their ABCs and to play nice with others. When you have multiple kids in at the same time, of course, the cost grows exponentially. Believe me, I’ve paid through the nose over the years.

My youngest three children were all born in December, which means that they missed the cut-off for kindergarten. Of course, this results in yet another year of pre-school and thousands more out of my pocket. Let me give you real numbers here.

The pre-school I have been sending my girls to for the past five years is a Montessori school right near my house. Their tuition for 8:30 AM to 3:30 PM, five days a week is $850 a month. That comes out to $7,650 for the school year (August through May) per child. Then you have to pay for summer camp, which conservatively will run you $200 a week, so an extra $2000 more or less, for a grand total of $9,650 per year per child. I thought this was expensive, so I looked into other pre-school programs in the area. They are even more expensive. One quoted me a half-day ( 9:00 AM to 1:30 PM) 5 days a week for $8,455 and full day (until 3:00 PM) 5 days for $10,330 a school year. Plus summer camp, of course.

Compare this with college. The University of Florida charges only $4,340 per year for in-state students, half of the pre-school tuition. On the other hand, private university like my alma mater, the University of Miami, is much more expensive. Its tuition is $36,188 two semesters. Yes, it is outrageously expensive. However, college students and their families have financial aid available as well as low interest student loans. On average, almost 80% of students who applied for financial aid got it, and they received over $17,000 against their tuition as a gift, bringing the total cost down to around $20,000 a year, only double the pre-school cost.

In addition, college students can work part-time to offset some of the cost. What are your toddlers going to do to pay for their pre-school tuition? Sell cups of homemade lemonade for $1,000 each?

This year, with the economy in shambles, I have elected to keep my youngest at home and keep that money in my bank. Next year, when she is 4, she will qualify for Florida’s state VPK program, which pays for 3 hours of preschool instruction a day. I think the pre-school deliberately puts the VPK hours in the middle of the day (noon to 3:00 PM) so you will be forced to pay for the “wrap-around program” for $585 a month, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

In the meantime, my advise to you is save now for pre-school. You will be glad you did!

In Case of Temper Tantrum, Break Glass

I know I am not the only mother who has watched a toddler having an all-out temper tantrum and wondered if there is something wrong with her child. Chemical imbalances? Poltergeists? Psychological issues? Your kid just doesn’t like you? Before you go hauling your 2 or 3 year-old off to be examined by a bunch of specialists, please read this post. In 99.999% of the cases, there is a very simple explanation…Your child is a toddler.

It seems unreasonable to us that a person would turn completely red and his body thrash around because he can’t have another cookie, or would continuously scream at the top of her lungs for the entire 45 minute car ride in a vehicle filled with other people because she doesn’t like the song on the radio. However, we need to remember that reason doesn’t really factor in here.

When they are babies, they are working very hard to get control of their own bodies, sitting, walking, picking stuff up, etc.. When they are toddlers, they are working on getting control of their emotions. Keep in mind that they are in a near-constant state of frustration. They can see things they want, but can’t reach them; they can walk, but can’t go everywhere they want; they can talk, but often don’t have the vocabulary or patience to express themselves verbally.

Here are some strategies I have used successfully. The next time your kid has a temper tantrum, you should try one or more of them out. You will probably find that one or two are more effective given your personality and your child’s.

• Distract – This is one of the only times you will be happy that your toddler has the attention span of a fly. Pretend that he is not screaming his head off, totally ignore the topic of the temper tantrum and start talking in a loud, upbeat voice about something pleasant or interesting to your child. Here’s an example: “Hey, it’s almost your birthday (or Christmas, or summer vacation, or July 4th, time for dinner, etc…)! What do you want as a gift/where do you want to go/what do you want to eat?”
• Commiserate – This only works if you are being silly. Let’s say she wants something that she can’t have, like a pacifier you are trying to wean her from. You can say, “Daddy hasn’t let me have my binky for a long time either!” Then pretend to suck your thumb. Chances are, you will have an end to the temper tantrum and even get a smile or laugh out of it.
• Hold her hand – This one is really counterintuitive. Our first instinct when faced with a no-holds-barred temper tantrum is to have a bit of a temper tantrum ourselves and yell out our frustration. This always backfires, and makes the kid’s temper tantrum even worse. When your child is having a temper tantrum, try just holding her hand. You don’t even have to say anything, but this simple act reassures her that you love her and helps her calm down. I usually use this one in the car.
• Talk about choices – Even toddlers can begin to understand that when they behave a certain way, it is a choice they are making. There are good choices and bad choices. Good choices result in positive consequences and bad choices result in unpleasant consequences. See my postings How to Get Your Kids to Behave – The First Secret and How to Get Your Kids to Behave – The Second Secret. When my little ones are misbehaving, I first ask, “Is [the behavior] a good choice or a bad choice?” Don’t be surprised if you don’t get an answer. Next, explain the consequences associated with either the action or the desired behavior. Example: “Screaming because you can’t have something is a bad choice. If you keep screaming, I will have to take you outside for a timeout,” or the opposite approach “If you stop screaming and behave in the grocery store, you can have Tic Tacs when it is time to pay.”

Whatever your strategy for dealing with temper tantrums, keep your cool. Remember that your kid isn’t freaking out in order to frustrate or torture you (that’s just a side benefit). Once it is over, and the kids are asleep, take a deep breath and do something relaxing. Dealing with cranky toddlers is hard work, and you deserve it.

Why I Hate Halloween

Halloween is right around the corner. My kids have been talking about costumes and candy for at least a month and a half, when our local supermarket decided to put up their Halloween display (thanks, Publix!).

Halloween is my least favorite holiday. Actually it is more than that. I can’t stand Halloween. As an adult, there is nothing but hassle, expense and sacrifice and nothing positive. The kids don’t learn anything positive and there is nothing of benefit that comes out of Halloween.

Let’s start with the whole concept of “trick or treat.” This wonderful holiday teaches my kids that if total strangers don’t give them something they don’t deserve and have no right to expect (free candy), it is perfectly OK to “trick” them by vandalizing their homes.

Now, let’s discuss the candy. I buy candy for my kids very rarely, as a special treat. I used to be a little more liberal with the candy (they’re only kids once, after all), but then I took my kids to the dentist. Out of four kids (Rebecca was too young at that time to go), I ended up with six cavities, costing me hundreds of dollars, even with dental insurance, and repeat visits to fix. Tomorrow, my kids, each of whom at their last checkup had zero cavities, are going to come home with a huge bag or bucket of candy. Oh, joy. Now I have to figure out how to subtly disappear it so it doesn’t set off waves of temper tantrums and sulk sessions.

This year, just like the previous years, my kids insisted on getting new costumes. Never mind that we have a huge dress up box full of princess and fairy costumes, clown and cheerleader outfits, disco diva and flapper get-ups, complete with boa. No, those are not what they want to be this year. So we had to pay ridiculous prices for a costume that each of them will wear one night before tossing it in the dress up tub.

Not only that, but the costumes are made so cheaply that they frequently break even before Halloween. Last year, Miriam was a 70’s girl and I bought her a shiny vinyl lime green top and pants and silver platform shoes. The pants ripped two days before Halloween right in the front by the crotch and could not be repaired. The entire platform sole on both shoes came away from the upper. This year already, her witch hat’s elastic band broke and I will need to sew it back on today.

And finally, there is the whole idea of Halloween itself. On Halloween supposedly, all the evil and dead things come out; the vampires and zombies, the monsters and murderers, witches and devils and ,even the Grim Reaper himself. How lovely! What a perfect night to send out innocent children out in the dark to knock on strangers’ doors! And I just love going to someone’s house and seeing their manicured lawn decorated with people rising from their graves and spiderwebs and disembodied heads that talk and flash their eyes at me and my young children.

About the only good thing about Halloween is seeing the little kids in their fireman, pricess and puppy dog outfits and taking pictures of my own adorable little trick-or-treaters. In my opinion, Halloween is only cute if you are 6 or under. If it was up to me, I would dress my kids up, take a picture, give them a cupcake and juice box, put them in their pajamas and send them to bed.

Nevertheless, you can look for me tomorrow, going door to door with a passel full of children, begging for candy from my neighbors.

Happy Halloween! :P

The Princess and the Pea

My daughter Mia is the original princess. I mean that in the literal sense, in that she was the first daughter born, and also that she is the epitome of princessness for me. She is a beautiful girl, with big green eyes fringed with abundant eyelashes, full pouty lips, and luxuriant honey-colored curls.

Whereas my son was all boy, Mia was always all girly, with frills, and pink and princess stuff galore. Every time I was pregnant, my son Danny hoped for a brother, but alas! was always disappointed. Nevertheless, he had a rich fantasy life, so he decided that he would make his sisters into the brothers he never had by dressing them up in his clothes. He would dress them in his boxers, shorts, undershirts and t-shirts, with baseball hats on their heads and give them boy names like Tom or Charley. Mia always refused to participate in these games. Even in make-believe, she would never even consider playing a boy.

Beginning when she a toddler, and continuing to this day, Mia has always been sensitive, both physically and emotionally. On a physical level, she is bothered by the way things feel on her skin. She doesn’t like the feel of lace, even stretch lace, or anything with an appliqué, or fabric paint. She is bothered by the seams sewn inside socks and other clothing, which means that she refuses to wear anything with panels or embellishment. She only likes soft, jersey type material, and skirts, shorts and pants have to hit her in a certain spot for her to be able to tolerate them.

All of which makes shopping with her akin to getting a root canal. One August, her Grammy took her shopping for school clothes. Although she goes to public school, they have a dress code and have to wear logo shirts with a khaki or navy bottom. Grammy took her to the mall, and for some reason, Mia refused to even try anything on. Not to be deterred, Grammy bought her about half a dozen khaki and navy skirts, shorts and pants in her size and figured she would try them on at home. Mia rejected all of them. I took them back and exchanged them for another full round of bottoms. Most of those went back as well. I think we ended up keeping two items, one of which she has steadfastly refused to ever wear for some undisclosed reason.

Mia is also very sensitive on an emotional level. She gets her feelings hurt easily, especially by her brother, whom she adores. On the plus side, it makes her extremely empathetic. If someone is hurt or sick, Mia will be the one getting him tea or rubbing her head. It makes her both a great babysitter and a terrible one. Great when the little one is behaving and not so great when there is a problem, because she is too softhearted to enforce any kind of discipline.

When she was little, I worried that she was too soft and too vulnerable to future hurts, so I made sure that I read books and made up stories (I was constantly making up original stories for my children) in which the princess characters were courageous and clever. Some of them were warriors and once in a while ended up saving the prince or even the entire kingdom. Even when I read traditional stories like Cinderella or Snow White, I would add little asides that went something like this, “You know, this is just a fairy tale. In real life, girls and ladies don’t just sit around waiting to be rescued by a guy.”

Now, at nine, she has toughened up somewhat. I was actually surprised last year when I enrolled her in soccer and she was the best, most competitive player on the team. She gets upset less often when Danny is nasty to her. But no matter how strong and independent my Mia grows, she will always be my number one princess.

The Evil Mastermind

“The evil mastermind” is what my son calls his youngest sister, Rebecca (age 3). You would never think it to look at her. She is just as cute as can be, with this high-pitched little voice. She has big brown eyes and dark golden curls. She is fond of running around the house (and even on occasion outside) completely naked. And yet…

As toddlers and preschoolers, my first three kids had about the average level of naughtiness. Then came Leah, my fourth child. She was so mischievous that we used to call her “Leah the Leprechaun.” As a 2 and 3 year old, she would tell me outright that she wasn’t ever going to listen to me. I remember saying to her one time when she was really misbehaving, “Don’t you want to be good?” Her answer was, “No, I want to be naughty.” It was hard for me to keep a straight face after that comeback, and of course that was part of her whole strategy to get away with it, whatever “it” was.

Rebecca makes Leah look like an angel. It’s not that she doesn’t understand the rules; she just doesn’t think they apply to her.

I’m sure it has something to do with her being “the baby” in a big family. She is so irresistibly adorable that the other kids become enablers and apologizers for her. They plot how to help her avoid whatever consequence she has drawn upon herself. They will sneak her out of her room or smuggle dessert to her, even giving up some of their own so she doesn’t have to go without. But I also think it has something to do with the immense amount of charm nature has somehow crammed into her tiny body (a trait she shares with her brother).

Like the others, I find it hard to resist her charisma, but I work hard at it. What kind of egomaniac could she turn into if she finds she can control her entire family from the age of 3? So I’m standing strong. But all I have to say is “Look out, world! Here comes Rebecca!”

It Came From Middle School

Not long ago, my home was invaded by a strange creature who looks exactly like my son. But it’s not my sweet little boy who loves to cuddle and says I’m the best mom in the world. This monster even acts like my son sometimes, and then without warning and at the slightest provocation, he transforms into a snarling, violent and irrational beast.

It’s a, it’s a…(scream) preteen!!!!

Since he is my oldest, this is my first experience in dealing with the primordial hormone soup that is pre-adolescence, so it is extra scary. Even more so because I have four more behind him who will each be going through puberty eventually, and with quite a bit of overlap.

Middle school is not like elementary school. When he went to elementary school, I knew all of his friends, and their parents and dropped him off at their houses, or had his friends over here. Now, kids are given a lot more freedom to “hang out” with each other, unsupervised. Who knows who is there or what kind of kids they are. Are they disrespectful, delinquent little cretins or nice kids? Let’s face it; good judgment is not at its peak between the ages of 11 and 14.

First and foremost, I love my son, so I laid down the law.

1. I love you no matter what, even if you are spewing the equivalent of verbal vomit from your mouth.
2. If you want to hang out with your friends, no problem, as long as I have met them and have their first and last names, cell phone numbers and home numbers, Social Security numbers, addresses and a photo ID. (Just kidding about the last three.)
3. The hormones are not your fault, but you are responsible for controlling your behavior anyway.
4.Disrespect will result in unpleasant consequences.
5. I still love you.

I have friends whose children are teenage boys and young adult men, and they are still alive, so I have hope that it is possible to get through the Land of Adolescence in one piece. The thing that makes it so hard is the love. If I didn’t care so much, I could just ignore the outbursts and shift my focus on the kids who aren’t screaming at me or throwing things. But I refuse to give up and let my son spin out of control. Someday, God willing, he will grow out of this stage and become the amazing young man I know he can be.

Going to the Dogs

We are dog people. It is my belief, right or wrong, that there is something fundamentally wrong with people who don’t like kids and/or dogs. Early in our relationship, my husband insisted that we get a dog. Although I wanted a dog too, it was my opinion that we should wait until we had a house, since we lived in a high-rise condo in South Miami Beach (this was of course, BK, before kids) when we were still hip. Not only did he have his heart set on a dog right now, but he insisted that we get a Dalmatian, rather than a small “girly man” dog.

So after Tony used his considerable charm to convince me to abandon all common sense, we ended up getting an adorable, liver spotted Dalmation puppy, who we named Bella Mia. Her double claims to fame were that she had brown spots (only about 10% of Dalmatians are brown and white instead of black and white), and she was the granddaughter of one of the singer Gloria Estefan’s dogs.

What my husband neglected to mention in his campaign to get a dog was that he never intended to walk, feed or care for the dog in any way other than to play with her and love her. Anyone who has had a dog, especially a puppy and especially in a high-rise condo, knows is that it’s a lot of work. Back in the day BK, my entire condo was furnished in antiques. Bella gnawed through the leg of a 1920’s solid oak table; I think maybe she was a beaver in a previous life. She destroyed my white damask upholstered 1940’s sofa. She used our carpet as her own personal toilet. She shed brown hairs on you if you were wearing white, and white hairs on you if you were wearing black. She used to sleep I’m not a biologist, but my theory is that puppies are so cute as a defense mechanism. If they looked just like regular dogs but smaller, they wouldn’t survive their first year. Luckily, Bella was gifted in the cuteness department.

Unfortunately, her cuteness did not give her immunity from our condo board. As in many such associations, there are a lot of people who had nothing better to do than to give other residents a hard time. They sued us, along with a half dozen other people because our dog was over the weight limit. We spent over $5,000 in attorney’s fees trying to defend our precious Bella. Eventually, we sold our condo and moved to a house since I was at that time pregnant with our oldest, and we wanted a more family-oriented environment to raise him, so they dropped the suit against us.

Just before Danny was born, Tony suggested that we get rid of the dog. He was afraid that Bella would be jealous of the baby and might bite him. But I told him in no uncertain terms that we were not getting rid of the dog. You just don’t do that; when you adopt an animal, as long as it isn’t a danger to anyone, it is part of your family and you can’t just jettison it when it gets inconvenient. When I brought Danny home from the hospital, I gave Bella one of his baby blankets to smell. That night, she went outside and barked and barked, announcing the arrival of the baby. Then she lay right down next to his bassinet and became his protector from then on.

For years afterward, as we had child after child, Bella transformed into a deer when Danny was playing Indian, and into a princess and playmate for the girls. If animals could be canonized, then Bella would have been a saint. She was always gentle and loving.

As she got older, Bella lost her eyesight, and then most of her hearing. She developed bumps and lumps that came and went, all over her body, then she became incontinent. When she started ailing, we got her a dog. I had read that if you have an older dog that isn’t doing well, sometimes it helps perk them up to have a younger dog in the house. So Danny and I went to the Humane Society and picked out a pointer puppy that we named Striker. He did help keep her on her toes, and I think she loved him, but they waged an ongoing turf war. She was about three times his size, but not as spry or aggressive. Once, they got into a big fight and he bit her tail so badly that we had to have it cut off at the vet.

In the sunset of her life, when she was 14 years old, we had a flood in our house and we had to move out for three months while the repairs were being done. She was really not doing well since she was in a new environment and couldn’t see very well. She even somehow lost her sense of smell. Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to put her down. I was afraid that she was just going to die and the kids would find her and be devastated. But in true keeping with her nature, she didn’t let that happen. One day, she just disappeared without a trace. We looked for her and asked if anyone had seen her, but she was gone.

We still have Striker, and he is following in Bella’s pawprints. He has recently gotten over his obnoxious puppy stage and is shaping up into a really good dog. He is a hunting dog and has killed five animals that I know of, some of which he has eaten. But he has never hurt our kids and he even lets Rebecca take his front paws and dance around with him. And just like Bella, he sheds white hairs on dark clothes and black hairs on light clothes.

Apron Strings

When my husband, Tony was a child, his mother was an obsessive cleaner. His house was always immaculate and hyper-organized. When he woke up in the morning, everything was sparkling clean and the table was set for breakfast. In short, everything was clean and neat and ordered for him with no effort required on his part.

To this day, when my mother-in-law comes to my house, the first thing she does is start cleaning. She’ll clean my kitchen, hand-washing each dish in scalding hot water. Then she sweeps and picks up. If I have laundry to fold, she starts to fold it. When we first got married and she visited, I would get insulted. Did she think I wasn’t a good housekeeper? Was she disgusted with the mess and dirt she saw? Did she think I wasn’t good enough for her son? Over time, I have come to accept it. This is just the way she is. Cleaning my house is actually her way of sharing, so now, I just relax and let her do it.

When we got married, Tony expected that I would act the same as his mom. “Maybe,” he might have reasoned to himself, “the reason she has never been a super cleaner before is that she wasn’t married yet. Now that we’re married, she will change.” In addition to tidying and scrubbing, he also expected me to make his doctor appointments for him, cook and serve him food even if he didn’t ask or said he wasn’t hungry, bake multiple pies and dozens of cookies to serve to friends or give as gifts at Christmas and send out Christmas cards to everyone he ever came in contact with, just like his mom used to do. Let me point out at this point that I am Jewish. I never did anything around Christmas time except light the menorah and eat potato latkes.

But forgetting for a moment the cultural and religious issues, the idea that I should be more like my mother-in-law has been the cause of lots of fights over the last 14 years of our marriage. Don’t get me wrong – we have a good marriage and we don’t fight that often. But when we do get into it, the problem usually centers on a variant of the same thing, which is “I’m not, nor will I ever be your mother.” The arguments have gotten less the longer we’ve been married. I have gotten better at cleaning, and he has gotten better at not complaining. Every once in a while, though, that little boy still comes out and reaches for his mother’s apron strings and finds that mama has left the building.