I started this blog when my seventh child was just a few months old, almost thirteen years ago, so most readers don’t know he was born a week before Pesach!

We had his shalom zachor on Shabbos Hagadol (the Shabbos before Passover) and his bris was the first day of Pesach.  (That was followed by a brother who had a bris erev Rosh Hashana, and the next brother having a bris on erev Shavuos! Yep, we do holidays right! :))

For those who are curious about how we managed that, my amazing oldest two daughters who were at the time 11 and 9.5 came into my room when he was about a few hours old on Thursday evening holding a notebook, and asked me about what recipes they should prepare for the shalom zachor the next night. (We had fortunately turned our kitchen over for Pesach just the day before.)

They baked everything, together with ds12. Really. And those who attended were so impressed that a year later when they sold home-baked Pesach cakes and kugels, they had a ready clientele who remembered the things they had made a year before!

Together with dh, the oldest three kids also prepared all the food for the bris, which was held in our home. Yep, they were amazing!

Back to the present. I’ve known for all these years that we would have a very busy bar mitzva season for this son due to it coming so close to Pesach. And here we are – it’s around the corner!

(And this season will be even busier than I was anticipating all these years, since our oldest daughter is due five days before his bar mitzva! Like I said, we do holidays right!!)

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A boy puts on tefillin for the first time a month before his bar mitzva; dh and ds12 went to our shul accompanied by ds11 and ds9.

A number of people in real life have commented that he’s on the tall side for a bar mitzva boy.  Yes, he is! So far all our oldest three boys have been about 5′ 8″ at their bar mitzvas and pass me in height (I’m 5’9″) the year after, and ds12 is following in their footsteps. More important than physical height is that he continue to grow emotionally and spiritually in a healthy and balanced way!

Avivah

Sometimes kids will say something that is triggering and even when you intellectually know you a better way to handle it, you don’t rise to the occasion.

And then you do something you regret, sometimes just one minute after the words leave your mouth.

Here’s a real life scenario from my home last week:  a son noticed the challah and bread knife weren’t on the Shabbos table, and when he brought them, told me in an annoyed voice things would go much faster if everything was already in place and he didn’t have to do it.

Now, I appreciate his noticing what was missing and initiating the effort to take care of it.  I could have commented on that and shown my appreciation. That would have been good and it would have ended right there.

But I didn’t. It didn’t seem an unreasonable effort to make and I don’t think it’s something to complain about. Especially since the table was set, the food was purchased and prepared, the house was clean, everyone had laundered clothes to wear – and almost all of that happened without his involvement.

Here is the trap I usually don’t fall into…but this time I didn’t make the best choice: “I hear you.” Stopping right here would have been perfect. But I didn’t. 

“But (here I invalidated his message because I wanted to be appreciated for my efforts rather than complained about…) do you notice everything else was done? (Enumerate all the things that he didn’t have to do.)”

Irritated teen’s response: “It’s not helpful when you tell me that.”

He’s right.

Every parent has her personal triggers and hearing my kids complain about how hard they work when they’re not doing very much is one of mine. Interestingly, my older kids who objectively did a lot more than their younger siblings at the same age rarely made comments like this.

Often I’ll laugh and make jokes when they make a comment along those lines, often I’ll empathize – but this time I pointed out how little is expected of this child.

Now, it’s good for kids to learn to be appreciative. But there’s a time and a place for that message, and right when they’ve complained about doing too much isn’t a good time to tell them how little they really do!

No matter how right you may be (and you’re usually not as right as you think you are), you can’t make someone see your point of view. The only way someone is willing to hear what you’re saying is when you’ve first shown your willingness to hear him.

What would have been the best response in this case? “I hear you. Thank you for taking care of that.”

When I put the focus on all that I’ve done, I haven’t taught him to be appreciative of someone else’s efforts. Instead, I’ve hinted that whatever he does is nothing compared to what I do. And the hint inside of that is, he’s lazy.

Is that what I’m intending to convey? Absolutely not. That’s not my intent, but that’s what he hears.

When in doubt, I find a good rule of thumb to be to close my mouth.

My twenty year old son sometimes protests when I don’t respond forcefully to a misdeed of a younger sibling, that he couldn’t have gotten away with that when he was younger. He’s right, because I’ve learned that in the moment of challenge is very often not the right time to teach a constructive message.  I was more actively corrective when he was young, but I now see the value in silence and patience.

Avivah

Last week I attended the foster care roundtable, the purpose of which was supposedly to share constructive feedback with those in charge as to how they could better support foster families.

That’s not what it ended up being. During the intro we were told that we were chosen to represent 300 families, we were all known to be extremely dedicated foster parents and if there was something that concerned us, it was likely it was an issue for many other people. Then discussion then opened by asking about emotional responses parents had to different situations.

After listening to several people respond and then having it turned around and blamed on them, I lost all desire to contribute.

Then someone said exactly what I was thinking, that we were invited to give feedback and this conversation wasn’t aligned with what we had come for.

That person was told it was too bad she misunderstood the purpose of the evening.

We were the first to leave, and the person leading the session thanked me for participating. I probably should have continued to keep my mouth shut as I had done all night, but that comment was ridiculous and irritating to me, since I hadn’t participated at all. And I said as much.

“Oh, what a shame you didn’t say something until now!” This was exactly the kind of response that had been upsetting me all evening. Someone says something, and it’s turned around and blamed on them. And once again I should have kept my counsel but didn’t.

“Excuse me, but there are ten people here. I facilitate groups, and it’s not hard to see in a group this size that two of the ten people here haven’t contributed all night. A participant shouldn’t have to tell  you that!”

I was thinking a lot more than that, but even so I regretted saying anything since productive communication doesn’t usually happen when I’m feeling out of sorts.

Later I spent quite a bit of time thinking about if it was worthwhile to share my impressions, and when two days later my social worker solicited my feedback, I shared the relevant points to be considered when planning a future event of this sort.

By that time I was feeling much more understanding of the facilitator, because, as I told the social worker, it’s hard to hear feedback. It’s very understandable to feel resistance to feedback that isn’t positive, to justify your actions and choices, and to minimize and even invalidate the concerns being expressed.

After all, haven’t I as a parent done that plenty of times???

I tell my kids I want their feedback, but do I really want to hear the negatives, or would I rather hear the tell me what a wonderful life they have, thanks to me, the most amazing mother in the world? 🙂 🙂 Seriously, they can give me very kind and gentle feedback periodically, and I’ll try to integrate the suggestions.  Kind, gentle and periodic. I’m not too receptive otherwise.

I also try to remember how hard it is to accept constructive feedback when I give my kids feedback. It’s so easy as adults to feel the need to constantly correct our children, but can we realistically expect them to hear, much less integrate, all our suggestions and comments and directives throughout the day?  I think I would tune out for my own self-protection if someone was constantly telling me all the things I should be doing better.

Wouldn’t you?

Avivah