Wine Vs. Treadmill

 http://www.mydaily.co.uk/2015/01/26/a-glass-of-red-wine-is-the-equivalent-to-an-hour-at-the-gym-says-study/

Okay, this might just be the best article I have ever read.  Some scientists had the truly brilliant idea to do a study to determine if having a glass of wine yields the same positive fitness benefits as working out for an hour.  I imagine they came up with that hypothesis after a couple of glasses of wine.  Well, it turns out, drinking a glass of wine is equal to working out for one hour!  They found that resveratrol, a compound in red wine, improves heart function, muscle strength, and physical performance in the same way as exercise does.  This is great news for anyone who comes home after a long day of work and can't decide if she should go to the gym or open a bottle of red.  That has always been a difficult dilemma, but now they are both equally good options!

The article says that this is especially good news for people who are physically incapable of working out.  Now, they can have a glass of red wine and reap the same benefits as an hour long workout!  Which is good, because most people are physically incapable of working out after a few drinks, so it is good to know that a glass of wine at that point is the perfect remedy.

Cheers!

Congratulations, It's a Teenager!

There is a reason people are born as babies.  Not many couples would be willing to take home a newborn teenager from the hospital.  You need a good 12 years investment in a person before you are willing to keep him or her around as a teenager.  Which works out perfectly, timing-wise!  It also helps to have a few years of insane cuteness stored in your memory and in your photo albums before your baby becomes a teenager.  Of course, there is so much joy in raising teenagers.  But I'm just saying, a large part of that joy is very closely tied to the years you invested in them, and also to the cuteness in their past.

 Today is my first newborn's fourteenth birthday.  Fourteen!  Where has the time gone?  It feels like yesterday that I held him in my arms for the first time.  I have watched him grow from infancy into practically a man, and he has done very well and makes me proud every day.  He is determined and kind and wise beyond his years.  He is a wonderful role model for his younger siblings and for his friends.  But mostly, he was the absolutely cutest baby you have ever seen, and the sweetest little newborn ever to be born. 

But How Will they Ever Socialize?

Since it still seems to be the most pressing issue to anyone who hears that I choose to homeschool my children, I think it is time for another edition of "but how will they ever socialize?"

It is quite often that I find myself in a conversation explaining why I homeschool and how I homeschool.  Sometimes it takes one minute into the conversation, but usually it is much less, until the other person suddenly says, "but what about friends?" or something along those lines.  I can be talking about giving children the freedom to explore their passions, or I could be explaining the benefits of a curriculum tailored to each child, or I could be giving examples of how homeschooling allows each child to grow to their fullest possible potential, it doesn't make a difference, I am usually interrupted with some variation of this question: "But how do they socialize?"  That puzzles me a bit, but next comes the even more frustrating part, where I give many examples of ways that my children socialize and meet friends, which by the way are not the same thing, and the questioner will not be satisfied, and will always close with some variation of, "my kids need to socialize, so I would never homeschool."

As a parent of school children, you might be wondering if us homeschooling moms are keeping a tally of how often we have this type of conversation with you and other friends, family, and total strangers.  We don't.  Well, we don't anymore, because our kids have used the tally notebook either for math scrap paper or to create paper airplanes.  In a homeschooling house, paper always seems to find so many uses, and good luck holding onto yours.  But let me tell you, the tally is high.  It is very rare that a homeschooling mother tells someone about her children's education and she does NOT get asked how they socialize and how many friends they have.  It is the default response to the idea of homeschooling.

This makes me wonder, is making sure they have friends the main goal in raising children?  When I think of my goals in raising my children, I think of rising them to be compassionate, to be kind, to be self sufficient, to be true in their religious practice, to choose careers compatible with their natures, to be successful in their chosen careers, to have the confidence and experience needed to socialize as well as interact professionally and in other capacities with other humans of all ages and backgrounds, and to be self aware, and to be strong in their values, and indeed to have strong values.  Those are just some of the top priorities in raising my children.  I can go on for another few pages before "having friends" even makes the list.

People wonder (out loud and often and repetitively) how my kids make friends, and I wonder when this became a parenting goal. I took my children out of school because I felt the goals I had for them would not be reached through the school system.  When I tell this to people, they will usually agree that school does not give children the freedom to follow their passions, or to learn at their best pace, or to develop a sense of self necessary to be a successful adult, or encourage individuality, responsibility, or values.  But, they will argue, what about friends?  Well, homeschooled children have friends, I answer, but even if they didn't, I would still do exactly what we are doing.

"Flying With An Infant" And Other Cliches That Never Took

Piece of cake.  Easy as pie.  On cloud nine.  These are just some examples of cliches that are used everyday.

Just for fun, why not examine some cliches that never quite took, and try to determine where they lost their way.   For example, instead of easy as pie, why not try this saying instead, "easy as flying with an infant."  I am currently on my way back to LA from the east coast, so this particular saying comes to mind.  On the way out, my baby fell asleep at takeoff and woke up during landing.  Flying with her was "easy as pie."  Or maybe "easy as flying with an infant."  But here is where it gets tricky: on this flight, it took her five hours until she fell asleep, and for all those five hours she was, well, a traveling infant, which now that I think about it answers my own question.

Okay, so what about "slept like a baby?"  That one is used to imply "slept very well," but that is not very accurate, is it?  Which makes me wonder why some cliches get away with being inaccurate and yet are accepted and widely used, while others are quickly discarded for the same reason.  For example, when is the last time you used, "flying with an infant" to imply a feeling of calmness and relaxation?  (That one keeps coming to mind no matter how deep I dig to find another saying.)  Why use a double standard for sayings?

Then there is another favorite, "pot calling the kettle black," which is used to call out someone for being hypocritical by accusing others of doing something they are also guilty of doing.  On this one "flying with an infant" might be equally interchangeable, because if ever 300 or so people are guilty of the same thing, it is a plane full of passengers praying that the infant will fall asleep.

And of course, you have "Abandon Ship!" which is, if you gave a flying infant the power of speech, how she would describe her activities during the long, crowded flight.

From The Mouths Of Babes

Studies suggest that at sixteen months of age, babies pick up about ten new words a day.  That sounds about right.  Here in our house, our toddler suddenly started adding new words to her vocabulary every day at about that pace.  Actually, she is adding new words to all of our vocabulary.  Whatever she names something for the first time, that's what we all call it from then on, because it is too cute to call it anything else.  So balloons are now baboons, apple juice is appadut, and cheerios are chooftiot.

Many years ago, as a young and idealistic mother, I was determined to model proper language for my children.  I thought that if a baby hears proper language usage, he will be mature verbally at a younger age, and I believed that if you talk baby talk to babies, that is how they will always talk.  My older kids, now teens, definitely have excellent verbal skills and vocabulary, so at least I was right on the first thing.  But I sure hope I am right on the second thing.  I hope balloons will always be baboons, and shoes will always be shoots, and that da moon will always be absolutely fascinating, and a baba filled with appadut is always nummy.  Because I can still remember another baby, 13 years ago, calling a baba filled with appadut "babajoo," and I cannot imagine why I ever taught him to say apple juice.  Lesson learned.

Peace And Quiet? No, Thanks.

Every parent yearns for peace and quiet.  We crave just a few moments respite from the constant chaos of parenting.  But usually, when we finally do hear the beautiful sound of no noise at all, we fear that silence.  Case in point: my new baby.  I finally moved her into a bassinet so that I can sleep for a few hours straight at night.  But this didn't help me sleep better at all.  Instead, I kept getting up to put my finger under her nose and make sure she is breathing!  I feel worried every minute that she sleeps peacefully, and I am reassured by her kvetching and fussing.  It's good to know she is breathing.

There are other types of breathing too.  For example my preteen boys breathing, which sounds more like wrestling, but is equally reassuring.  When the wrestling stops and all goes quiet, I get really nervous.  My mind starts racing with all the possibilities of what could have gone wrong, and I run to see what is going on.  My boys see my face and ask, "Are you okay?"  Yes.  I'm just glad you are both still breathing.

Most parents can relate to my fear of silence with regard to my toddler.  There is no silence that screams louder than the lack of noise coming from him.  I need to hear his constant breathing, in this case the sound of toy cars crashing into each other, soccer balls being bounced off the living room walls, and all the accompanying breaking sounds that accompany a toddler at play.  When I don't hear any noise from him, I RUN to check on him and make sure he is still breathing.

Then there is my eleven year old son.  Lately he has been acting really strangely, cleaning up his room, not fighting with his siblings, and even completing his school work without any fuss.  Last night, he went to bed the first time I asked.  Jarred alert by the silence, I went to his room to check on him.  There he was in bed, ready to go to sleep.  I was so confused by this behavior, and I worried that something was wrong.  I went to put my finger under his nose, but I couldn't figure it out.  "Mom, are you okay?" he asked me.  I'm not sure, I thought.  He seemed to be breathing, but yet I was still unsettled by the peace and quiet.

As my kids are getting older, it gets increasingly more difficult to check that they are okay, that they are breathing.  I am worried that my finger-under-the-nose trick no longer works for some of them.  I yearn for peace and quiet, but along with that I need a new way to check that they are still "breathing."  And I wonder if I will ever be okay with the calmness I dream of.

I am starting to understand why my mother will call me sometimes in the evening and ask how everything is going even though I just spoke to her that morning and told her everything is fine.  She probably just wants to check that I'm breathing.

Yom Hashoah

Today is Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day.  There is some controversy in the Jewish Orthodox community if today is an appropriate day to commemorate the Holocaust, and I won't go into the details of that debate here.  But personally, I often find myself wondering how every day is not Holocaust Rememberance Day.  Maybe not on an international level, but certainly among Orthodox Jews, the grandchildren of survivors.

I grew up among Holocaust survivors.  Every member of my shul (synagogue) over the age of 50 was a survivor.  They were as varied in personalities as any other group of people.  There were the quiet ones, the boisterous ones, the friendly ones, and the ones who were always shushing the children.  They never discussed their trauma, but they didn't have to, it was in the lines on their faces, in their smiles that turned into a sad, nostalgic, far away look, in their silence.  You could hear their stories loud on clear on the breath of every word they spoke.  You could see it in the lone tear that accidentally escaped their eyes seemingly out of nowhere.

As a child, I knew to never ask them about their pasts.  I read books from those few at the time who published them, but I never asked my next door neighbor how her family was killed, or the people at shul how they survived.  But it came out in stray comments here and there.  For example, the man at the kiddush who refused to drink coca-cola because it tasted just like the bugs in his mouth he woke up to every morning as a partisan in the forest.  Or the lady who lovingly told me I was lucky I looked like a shiksa (non-jew.)  Or the lady who accidentally called me Sarale all the time, then apologized and said I just look so much like her child that was killed.  A tear runs down my cheek as I try to recall her name, but cannot.

And of course there was my grandfather, a survivor of Auschwitz concentration camp.  He survived by the strength of his stoic resolve, and he tried to pass that on to us.  So if we were upset about something, he would ask loudly, "Do you have a roof over your head?  Do you have food to eat?  So sheifele, what in the world is there to complain about?"  He thought he would cure me of night terrors one night when he was babysitting and I woke up crying from a nightmare.  He listened to the tale of my scary dream, then told me, that's nothing, wait till you hear what happened to ME when I was your age!  True, this turned out to not be a good cure for nightmares, but now that he is gone, I cherish those nightmares he shared with me along with the happy memories I have of him.  And while I would never share with my young children the details of the horrors of the Holocaust, I am sad that they don't know them.

It wasn't the details or the events themselves that are etched on my soul.  Surely books will always survive, telling the tale of terror that our ancestors lived through.  But the story will never be complete without seeing their faces, without tracing the numbers on their arms, without hearing the flatness of their voices as they suppress the pain inside them.  I am sad for that part of the narrative that we are losing, for the real, human side of the story.  I am sad that my children will need a specific day to remember the Holocaust, that it isn't on their minds every single day, because they never witnessed that pain firsthand, and it isn't a part of them.