Know Thy Limits

My sister and I were discussing boundaries. Not necessarily between ourselves, but the concept, and its importance. 

I noted that boundaries are also different from person to person. What I find difficult, for instance, is simple for someone else, and vice versa. 

For example, when I was still in elementary and high school, Ma HATED to have to take me there or fetch me home. She HATED it. I don't know why. If it was mid-term season, there was NO WAY she was going to come pick me up, even if I would have to wait around school for another four hours for the bus. I sheepishly asked for rides home instead.  

If she ever HAD to take me, like if the bus didn't show, she grumbled and complained the whole trip as though it was my fault. 

I never found out why she hated it so much. But she was entitled. We all have tasks that we'd rather not do.

It has become my gauge that when deciding whether to do something or not, I think, will I be resentful for doing this? 

For instance, in my teen and single years I was called upon to babysit the kinfauna. A lot. And I usually didn't mind. No one even asked me; they called Ma and she said I would. 

But one time, I had a bad cold. You know how colds can be; innocent, but you feel like death and just want to sleep in your own bed after glugging down some Nyquil. Additionally, I was in college and had two finals the next morning. For the first time ever, I nervously called up the sibling in question and said I couldn't come. They were shocked, and annoyed. They eventually understood. I think. 

In recent years, there is another factor: Will this make me more impatient with Ben?

Ben's school PTA posted a bake sale right before Shavuos, and asked people to contribute their homemade yummies. Initially I was excited; I like to bake! Then I stopped myself. I couldn't bake for the sale. It was two days before yuntif, I still had to do my food shopping/cooking, and with two littles, it takes twice as long. I didn't have time to bake something, fuss over it with glazes and such, and then drop it off to boot. 

So even though I wanted to, I didn't do it. For the sake of my family I must take on only what I can handle at this current life stage. One day I'll be able to leisurely bake for the PTA. But not now.  

Now, my job is to stay somewhat operational.  

Don't Put On a Happy Face

While I have gotten somewhat used to the sleep deprivation, there are some days I'm so wiped I can barely walk. Throw in some humidity, some blazing sun, and I'm just about to keel over. 

I picked up Ben from school, and true to our routine, took him to the park (I hate the park. There's no shade). That done, I was trudging home, pushing the double stroller. I was so tired that my eyes closed and I took I few blissful steps half asleep. 

I was jolted out of my stupor as a neighbor bellowed from his car, "Smile, Mommy!" as he drove by. 

If I had the energy, I would have howled and leapt for his throat. 

The next day, he met Han in the gym, and began to lecture him. "I saw your wife yesterday, and she looked absolutely miserable. How can she be miserable when she's so lucky, she's a mother!?" 

Han explained I had had a rather rough night with Anakin, but he kept at it. I am not allowed to ever be looking unhappy because I, thank God, have children, despite being geriatric. 

This neighbor can be rather clueless, so I don't expect much from him. But this anecdote serves to illustrate the concept of "toxic positivity," also known as "spiritual bypassing." It's the idea that any sort of negativity in life can be overcome by simply focusing on the good. 

One meme I've found annoying is one that insists that we all must be suffused with gratitude because we have working limbs. Meaning, I am never allowed to be upset about anything because I can walk. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm very happy I can walk. I'm very happy I can talk. I'm very happy about a bazillion things in my life. But Judaism permits holding two opposing emotions at once. It is not a contradiction. I can be happy to be a mother, but I can also be miserably exhausted and resent being awoken six times in one night. 

I made this mistake when Ma died. I thought I was being noble, and frum, by telling myself that I accept Hashem's will, so I'm fine! So fine! Until a year later when I found myself crying while making supper. She has been dead for five years, and while I can accept Hashem's will I am still very very sad. I am surprised how sad I can be. Contrary to popular sayings, time doesn't heal all wounds. 

I've been following a lot of parenting gurus, and one message they repeatedly intone is to teach children that all feelings are okay, but all behavior is not. 

We are able to feel many emotions at once. Those feelings must be processed, not denied. 

(BTW, most people don't walk down the street smiling to themselves. That makes you look like a serial killer.)

What is the End Game?

Everything is relative, is it not? 

After marrying at our decrepit ages, Han and I are surprised to hear parents panic over their single 19-year-olds. That's still a thing? 

Han is actually, well, insulted when he hears the terror in the voices of relatives, fretting over their unwed not-yet-of-legal-drinking-age offspring. 

"Don't they see how well it worked for us?" he asked me, flabbergasted. "Don't they realize that while the wait couldn't be helped, it was worth it?" 

"Oh, my sweet idiot," I said condescendingly, patting his arm, "no." 

No one is asking our advice about launching their children into the dating realm. Because we messed up, you see. 

There could have been a confluence of factors. Perhaps our profiles didn't show us to our best advantage. Maybe we didn't consult the "right" shadchanim. Obviously, we were too picky, until we saw some sense and made the choice to "settle." 

We are the cautionary tale, not the inspiration. Sorry, Han.

I bumped into my niece's friend, who laughed how her 21-year-old sister is freaking over her singlehood. Especially considering how their parents wedded at a later age than Han and I. 

"She should be enjoying herself!" I said. "She should be doing things! Because soon," I gestured towards my burbling Anakin (yes, I'm going with Anakin, it's canon), "she won't be able to do ANYTHING. And she'll miss that time." 

I know of a gal who was shocked to find herself "still" single at 22. She married, happily, at 23. At 24, holding her bouncing baby, she finds herself hit by that proverbial Mack Truck. "I'm supposed to be up every two hours all night?!" Then: "I'm glad I didn't get married when I was 19!" 

The whole screaming infant part isn't exactly advertised in the brochure. A baby in theory is very different than a baby in practice. Even the really good ones don't let you go to the bathroom as often as their mothers would like. 

I have my moments when I sing to myself one of Ma's favorite sayings: "I'm gonna run away from home." The second time around, I'm used to the sleep deprivation, but Ben's adjustment to a new interloper was a real doozy. Then there are all those cheerful people who tell me having three is even harder, because then Han and I will be outnumbered. 

My point is this: motherhood is hard. It shouldn't be taken on lightly. 

Next: I've been hearing too many stories about young couples on the rocks. A few have lead to divorce. Which makes me sad. I know "they" say that marriage is work, but that doesn't mean it's never fun. Why else would anyone marry? There are "projects" out there that urge earlier marriages to circumvent singles, but what about the divorces? 

In today's times, younger marriages can be catastrophic. And yet these . . . children are being harried into early couplehood. That's meant for life.  

I recently came across this blog post, and when I mentioned it to Han he said that while men are allowed to nix a shidduch due to "attraction," it is considered an unimportant expectation from women. Here's the tip: if engagement is in the conversation, you both should be excited to spend time with each other.

Han and I were not willing to settle. Baruch Hashem, our parents understood and supported us, even though they found it difficult to watch us stay single. Because they also wanted us to be happy. 

Do we want our children to be happily married? Or just married?