Chanukas Hatoilet

While everyone else was busy having a Chanukas Hamenorah, we were hosting a Chanukas Hatoilet. Yes BH, this past Friday, two hours before Shabbos, we were please to welcome to our family a nice new bathroom with a flush and everything. What, you may ask, did you do while your bathroom was being remade? Did you perhaps stay in a five star hotel that your landlord paid for? Or did you go to your parents or in-laws and have a nice vacation? Which of these two options did we do, you are wondering? Well, I will tell you. Damdamadam.... Drum roll....

Neither one! We stayed home! In our house! With no toilet! Yes, we know we're awesome and have super-powers, but just how awesome we are, you are about to find out.

Our landlord brought us a camping toilet which looks like an adults' size potty. All we had to do was empty it in the morning (we will not get into the logistical question of how or where to empty it). For a couple nights, it was ok because we put it in the bathroom during the night amidst the screws and glass and drills and hoped to G-d that our kids would make it directly to the "toilet" without any mishaps/accidents (of all kinds) along the way. But then, the guy told us in his cheavy Russian accent that "Vee are not allowed, under any circumstances, to use toilet in zee bassroom. Toilet is not for use in bassroom." Duh, why didn't we think of that?!

So the camping toilet migrated to.... damdadam... the guest room! Uh huh, I'm not kidding. Now that was an adventure!
Me, when I couldn't stand it any longer: "Miriam, can you please watch the kids so they don't come in while I use the toilet in the guest room?"
Miriam: "Huh?"
Chaim: "Can you come out? I need to make!"
Me: "Chaim, use the other potty in your room."
Wow, come to think of it, for one week we had two bathrooms!! How luxurious!

Were there any perks to having your bathroom redone, you might ask? Well, there were a few.

First and foremost, obviously, the biggest perk was that we could use it as an excuse for everything:

"Oh, sorry, I missed your wedding. I have no toilet."
"Sorry I failed my exam but I had no bathroom."
"My kids smell horrendous? Oh it's cuz they haven't had a bath since last Tuesday."
"No dinner guys! We have to go Yakimono because we haven't got a toilet."

And we could use it show everyone how amazing we are:

"I made latkes AND I don't even have a toilet!"
"I took an exam WITHOUT a toilet!"
"I didn't yell at my kids WHILE NOT HAVING A TOILET!!"
"I skipped my morning coffee BECAUSE WE DON'T HAVE A TOILET" (That was just common sense).

Second perk was that we got to visit all kinds of bathrooms. I went to Bais Rivka and Yeshivah early for pickup. I went to the gym to use their showers and Zvi went to hockey. Stayed at my sister's for Shabbos and got some great bonding time with their bathroom. Plus, I snuck into their house in the middle of the night while they were sleeping to take a shower and shnorrer some snacks (hey, I don't have a toilet, I'm allowed). The kids got to have a bath in our friends giant jaccuzi.
Our favorite bathroom? Definitely the Quality Hotel's basement bathroom. (That was a joke, don't EVER go there).

Third Perk is that the drip drip drip noise that came from the faucet for the last year is no longer and we can now give our kids a bath that stays warm and doesn't become freezing from the cold drip drip drips within five minutes.

Fourth perk, we will have something funny to look back and laugh about. Not today though cuz we still don't have a our shower curtain rod so every inch of the bathroom is soaked. And our camping toilet is still sitting in our new bathroom reminding us of the horror. But when this is all over, you are all invited to our grand Chanukas Hatoilet!

The Secret to a Happy Home

From the well-to-do nutritionist:

First and foremost, I really feel strongly that everyone should have a live-in cleaning lady, and if that is difficult for some people then definitely every day.. Never raise your voice, always speak in a calm reassuring tone. In the morning, kids should NEVER eat cereal, they are terrible for them, rather they should have fresh fruit and veggie shakes filled with herbs and vitamins and ocean water. It is of utmost importance to set your husband's place at the table with fine bone china and receive him like a king as he walks in the door. Every night when you put your kids to bed, you should spend half an hour with each one rubbing their backs and talking to them about their day, with music on in the background to create a soothing atmosphere. Don't ever forget that you are the Akeres Habayis and must take care of yourself. Do yoga, buy yourself some new boots or a dress or a diamond. You are worth it and don't let yourself forget that.

 

 

From the Rebbetzin (she is also a Kalla teacher and Shadchan on the side), who's youngest child is thirty:

I believe that when your husband comes home from work at 6:00, the house should be clean, the kids should be well-cared for, and supper should be waiting hot on the table. The house should be Mesudar and the kids bathed. You know when I was younger, my husband used to come home at 7:00 and no one would help me but my house was still spotless. Oh and my kids never cried. And they didn't even have any toys! They had to play with a cardboard box. Yet, they made the best of every situation. That was the motto in our home: Be positive, make the best of it. When things were particularly challenging, I reminded myself that this is why Hakodosh Boroch Hu made women- to bear children and raise the next generation of Yidden so I did it with joy. Every time I changed a dirty diaper, I was doing a Mitzvah! Every sleepless night was like a gift to Hashem. Did I ever complain? Never! I had the Zchus to raise these beautiful Neshomos and I enjoyed every single minute of it. So that's my advice to you Maidelach: Do it with joy, love every minute of it, because before you know it they will be all grown up.

 

From the finanically challenged mom of 5 kids under 6:

Try to feed your kids three meals a day preferably not including rugelach as the carb part of the meal. Oh and really do try to avoid cereals that are multi-colored, though one color such as brown is not so bad. When your kids are driving you mad and are flying off the walls, try to not to curse or call them names. If you really must, go to your room and say it to your pillow. If you notice that your pillow doesn't smell too good, it is because you really ought to wash your linen at least once in six months. When you have calmed down, go give the kids a hug and then turn on the longest video you can find. For difficult moments, invest in a time-out stroller where you can strap your kids in until time-out is over. When your husband comes home, he really should be allowed to take his shoes off before you throw a baby with a leaky diaper at him. Be nice to your husband, talk about your hard day for only half an hour before allowing him to share because, I know you won't believe me but he may have had a hard day too (probably not, after all what is more draining than taking care of a bunch of kids?) . Finally, never forget to take care of your own needs by eating large amounts of mint chocolate chip ice cream while watching a movie (kosher of course) and of course, folding the laundry.

From me:

One word. Vodka. While you're making dinner, when the kids are in the bath, in the morning if it's a real bad one. Even Avraham Fried endorses my advice:"Come on everyone and say Lechaim!" So crank up the music, drink a couple shots and dance!

Monday Morning PTSD

The chaos which ensues on Monday morning must be put down in words so that in thirty years from now I can come back to this blog and remind myself why I'm so glad that my kids have moved out.


First of all, I don’t know what it is about Monday morning, but the kids are off their rocker. They wake up at 5:30 and proceed to jump, scream, push each other and throw things until the minute we walk out the door. Which, by the way, is an hour early because we’ve been up for so long and I, along with my neighbors, can’t take another minute of the hullaballoo.

When I return home after dropping off the kids, I actually feel some kind of PTSD. I sit amidst the utter chaos in total shock and disbelief and turn constantly at the imaginary sound of a kid still home, worried I might've missed one.

I think this must stage one of the five stages of grief because after shock definitely comes denial. I go on the computer, watch something and don't dare get up from my bed lest I catch sight of the giant pile of laundry threatening to overtake my bedroom or the numerous pieces of cut up paper strewn throughout my living room. I don't even get coffee. That would require me entering the filthy, cheerio-filled, kitchen which I refuse to deal with, dreaming wishfully of the cleaning lady that I will hire eventually to clean it. I told you- serious denial.

When I finally get up (cuz I'm starving, I've been up since 5:30), the denial turns to anger. Oh, I get angry at everyone in the whole world even if it's not related to the tornado in my house. My family for never putting their shoes away, my landlord for not fixing that stupid closet door, my mother for not calling me in a week, Hashem for not giving me lots of money and I get angriest at the cleaning lady who never shows up cuz she doesn't exist.

Following the anger is of course the bargaining. Only it's with myself. If I sort the laundry, start a load, and sweep all the floors, then I'm allowed to go to Winners and buy myself something. After I tidy for one hour, I can take a break and watch a show. I make deals with myself galore even though nobody else cares when and how I get it done as long as it's done. Then I cheat. Ok, so what if I just started the laundry, I deserve a break! Except, I'm only punishing myself. Which brings me to....

Acceptance. It finally settles on me. Positive musings ensue. This is it. The remnants of this long, fun-filled weekend are all mine. The mountain of laundry reminds me of the cute outfits my kids wore to the library Sunday morning. The dirty dishes are a souvenir of all the fun Shabbos meals and the Parsha questions, the songs and laughs which accompanied them. The one thousand toys which have been mixed together to form a giant toy salad, smile at me taking me back to the sound of my husband playing with my kids as I sat in bed, reading and drinking my coffee Shabbos morning. The smelly swimming stuff fill my heart with pride as I think of my daughter splashing joyfully in the pool. Every speck of dirt, every stinky sock, reminds me that this weekend we have lived! We have spent time together as a family! We have played together! Yes, there were fights and rain showers of confetti, and spillages of juices and shoes left all over but it wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t together, living life, spending it with each other. So I gather up energy and I face the fact that if I don’t clean up these memories, there will be no space to make new ones.

Then, I go to the mall and don’t buy myself one thing. I buy two or three or four because let’s face it, I worked like a dog and sure as heck deserve it.  

Help! My house is being overtaken by my daughter's drawings!

Recently, my daughter has become obsessed with drawing and coloring. When she wakes up in the morning, she stumbles to the table and begins to draw. She pauses briefly to eat and dress and then resumes coloring until I pry her from the table and being the mean mother that I am, force her to go to school. When I return to the house after dropping her off, there is a sea of paper, crayons, pencils everywhere. So I go to clean up and am met with a giant dillema. What to throw out. She's quite a good artist and they are so colorful and I'm sure, dripping with meaning and insight into her psyche, and she's my oldest after all. I feel terrible throwing them out so the result is stacks and stacks of drawings in little piles all over the house, filling up boxes and bags, covering surfaces everywhere. When she comes home, she will most probably forget about the earlier drawings as she hastily prepares the next five hundred but it's the "what if". What if she comes and asks me where that drawing of her and her friend are flying over a rainbow? Or even more significant, where is the drawing about the Parsha where Yaakov is playing jumprope with Esav? So I keep them. All. Including the stream of pages that come out of her schoolbag on Friday afternoon (yes, I must (get to?!) stop cooking for half an hour to attend to the artwork).

One of the most challenging parts of the drawing epidemic is when she shows me the picture and waits for my comment. I learned that I'm supposed to be specific and notice details so I scrutitnize and analyze every single piece and part. I note how purple the boy's hands are, how many stripes the skirt has and I do this over and over, hundreds of times every single day. To the person who taught me this crucial parenting rule: Must I do this EVERY SINGLE TIME? May I not say just once "wow, great drawing!" and move on. And please, while you're at it, please give me permission to throw some out so the guilt doesn't eat me alive.

My plan is to have her pick the ones she wants to keep but we've procrastinated for so long that it will take us three straight week with no sleep or food to get through the thousands we've accumulated. Maybe by then she'll be done with drawing and then I'll miss it and beg her to draw me just one more picture for me to keep forever.



Cleaning for the cleaning lady

So you know how you have to clean your house cuz the cleaning lady's coming?

Well, I just experienced a whole new variation of this. I had to clean up AFTER the cleaning lady. This one was not too bright and unfortuantely wreaked havoc in my kids room. I found dirty socks in the toy chest, used tissues in the car bucket, my daughter's shoes in the lego box (we searched for them for half an hour this morning, the cleaning lady owes me $5) and just when I was hyperventilating and thinking I was gonna pass out, I found a bag of candy in the puzzle drawer. So I ate some and then I felt better. I was actually surprised to find it there. I mean, candyland (the game, not the actual land) was just inches away. If I was a cleaning lady and I was tidying, I'd say "hmmm candy, ahhh candy land." But that's because I'd be a smart cleaning lady.

Every time we lose something we ask each other, "If you were Gloria, where would you put it?" or "Where is the most normal place it could be?" And then go look in the complete opposite location. Which is why, this morning, I went to find my brush in the dollhouse and what do you know?! There it was!

Everybody Lies

My friend, Dr. Gregory House, (ok, everyone is entitled to an imaginary friend), says that everybody lies.

And who is better at making stuff up than mothers? Recently, I was at a PTA meeting, and we were talking about yelling in the house. Wisely I said, "The key is know when you yell and be organized and ready in order to avoid the situation. Like for example, I know that Friday afternoon is a stressful time so I'm usually ready for Shabbos at one."

They were impressed. "Wow," they said, "We wish we could do that."

In my defense, I'd like to be ready at one. I think I even was once ready at one- the week I had a cleaning lady and was invited out for both meals. But anyway, it got me thinking that if I, the most honest person I know, lied, then think of all the untruths all my friends and non friends are saying. All those things I've been jealous of.  All those little statements people say to make themselves sounds like super moms.

"Yeah my kids are all sleeping by 6:30, I just need to have my evening to myself."
"We just don't have candy in the house. My kids don't even know what candy is!"
"My husband cleans the house every night. Including mopping the floor and doing the laundry. He just knows how hard I work."
"I don't need a cleaning lady because my house is always clean."
"My six year old daughter can cook dinner by herself."
"My six year old daughter babysits for hours Sunday morning."
"My six year old daughter can read Hebrew and English and Russian and Portugese fluently."

This is why I choose friends that are honest and blunt. They say things like "I stuck a candy on the wall next to my daughter's bed for her to eat in the morning when she woke up so she wouldn't bother me." Or "I pulled my daughter's hair because she really hurt me!" Aaaaahhh I love my friends. Maybe one day I will even admit to them that at one oclock on a Friday afternoon, my house is upside down and I am yelling at the top of my lungs.

What a great morning to start my blog!

Welcome to my blog.

What a great day to start blogging! I had the most remarkable morning and I tell you, though it was not in the least bit entertaining to me, it must have been a good show to those observing. I had to take my son to the doctor at 9:00. I don't know what I was thinking. Actually I do know what I was thinking, or wishing. That by some miracle, we'd have my daughter in school on time and have him at the doctor by nine and then I'd still have time to drop him at day care and run some errands. Ha Ha. At 9:00 I called the doctor. "We're running a little late," I say. "Can we possibly come at 9:30?"
To which the doctor replied "NO." So we ran down the stairs and out the door and arrived at the doctor promptly at 9:30. He took us anyway, Thank The Good Holy Lord, though I think it was out of a sheer pity for the mad mother toting two babies, more than anything else

Now the clincher. When we left his office, as I was putting the baby in the car, my son started to run down the block. Laughing hysterically, he looked back over his shoulder, saw how angry I was getting and ran faster. Obviously. I kept thinking that he’d turn around and come back. After all, I wasn’t going to run after him! So I waited and then I shouted and then I yelled and then I screamed “Get back here NOW.” And then “I’M COUNTING TO THREE.” And then “YOU ARE GOING TO GET SUCH A PATCH!” But still he fled further and further away. So then I flew….leaving my baby behind in the car, I ran down a very long block, screaming at the top of my lungs. I passed some guys who I swear were laughing at me. I glared at them so hard they went quiet, and then marched my son back to the car where I patched him (I couldn’t do it on the street for fear of someone calling social services). Then we had hugs. Then he went to day care. Thank The Good Holy Lord. And that is the story of my mad morning with all its details.